LINCOLN  ROOM 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


MEMORIAL 

the  Class  of  1901 

founded  by 

HARLAN  HOYT  HORNER 

and 
HENRIETTA  CALHOUN  HORNER 


COPYRIGHT,  1906 
BY  THE  JOHN  C.  WINSTON  COMPANY 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.  The  Wolf-dog   i 

II.  In  Old  Kentucky  9 

III.  Young  Thomas  Lincoln   23 

IV.  Peidy,  the  Heifer  47 

V.  The  Search  for  Sarah 57 

VI.  Wayne  in  the  Wilderness  67 

VII.  The  Infare  77 

VIII.  The  Wolf-dog  Again   89 

IX.  Inquiring  for  Sarah 101 

X.  The  Cathedral  Under  the  Trees 107 

XI.  Sleeping  Under  the  Wagon 123 

XII.  The  Messisago  Chief  133 

XIII.  Mad  Anthony  Wayne  143 

XIV.  The  Battle  of  Fallen  Timbers 149 

XV.  The  Treaty  of  Greenville 155 


CHAPTER.  PAGEi 

XVI.    A  Strange  Indian  Wayfarer 161 

XVII.     The  Kikapoo   169 

XVIII.     Sarah? 175 

XIX.     The  Return  of  Sarah 181 

XX.     Sarah's  Stories  of  the  Deep  Forests 197 

XXI.    The  Captive  Daughter 207 

XXII.     Wayne  Comes  Back < 217 

XXIII.  Abraham  Lincoln's  Mother  223 

XXIV.  The  Little  Girl  Who  Died 239 

XXV.     Facing  the  Wilderness — and  Life 245 

XXVI.    The  Wolf-dog's  Strange  Conduct  257 

XXVII.  The    Design    from    which    our    Story    was 

Drawn 263 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

Nancy  Started  up;   "Sarah,"  She  Called  Doubtfully, 

Frontispiece. 

Thomas  Threw  Himself  on  the  Ground 26 

Mother  Berry  Offers  Little  Turtle  a  Dish  of  Corn..  138 

Sarah's  Return 182 

Thomas  Beckons  "Come,"  but  the  Dog  Won't  Follow .  260 


A  HEROINE 
OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  WOLF-DOG 


"  What's  that?"  asked  Mother 
Berry,  as  she  stood  by  the  fireplace.  This 
was  in  Kentucky  near  the  close  of  the  eight- 
eenth century.  "It  sounds  like  a  wolf-dog. 
I  have  heard  it  before.  I'll  open  the  door 
and  listen." 

"Cry-ee-ei!"  came  echoing  from  the  tim- 
ber. "Yes,  I've  heard  that  same  cry  be- 
fore, and  it  goes  to  my  heart  ;  there  is  some- 
thing pitiful  in  it." 

"Right  you  are,  wife,"  said  her  husband. 
"There's  something  out  of  the  common  in 

i 


2  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

that  cry.  I  reckon  it  comes  from  the  same 
dog  that  I  raised  my  gun  to  shoot  when 
something  staid  my  hand.  I  didn't  tell  you 
about  it  for  fear  you  might  laugh  at  me  for 
hesitating  to  kill  a  wolf-dog." 

"How  did  he  look?"  asked  Mrs.  Berry. 

"He  was  a  young  dog,  and  handsome  for 
one  of  his  sort.  He  saw  me  taking  aim, 
but  instead  of  sneaking  away,  he  rose  up  on 
his  hind  feet  and  stood  before  me  as  if  offer- 
ing himself  for  a  target.  I  hesitated,  with 
my  finger  on  the  trigger.  He  seemed  to  beg 
for  mercy ;  to  wish  to  come  towards  me  in  a 
friendly  way,  somehow,  to  be  acquainted 
with  man ;  then  he  dropped  down  on  his  feet 
and  moved  away  slowly.  He  acted  as  if 
there  was  something  he  would  like  to  say  to 
me.  It  was  the  strangest  conduct  on  the 
part  of  a  wild  animal,  especially  on  the  part 
of  a  young  timber  wolf,  that  I  ever  knew." 

* '  Cry — cry — ee — ei ! ' ' 

<  t  There  it  is  again.    Do  you  suppose  he  is 


THE  WOLF-DOG  3 

a  spirit  wolf  of  the  timber?  People  say 
there  are  such  things." 

"No,"  said  Mr,  Berry,  "there  was  noth- 
ing fierce  in  his  look.  He  seemed  rather 
anxious  to  be  friendly,  and  as  if  he  wanted 
to  come  and  lick  my  hand.  That  made  me 
merciful  to  him,  and  I  let  him  go  back  to 
his  own.  No,  not  to  his  own,  for  something 
stranger  yet  happened.  A  pack  of  timber 
wolves  came  skitting  by,  and  when  they  saw 
him  they  tried  to  fall  on  him.  He  ran  from 
them,  crossed  my  track  again,  stood  still  for 
a  moment,  held  up  his  paws  again  shyly, 
and,  once  more  gave  me  a  friendly,  wistful 
look.  It  was  the  only  look  of  that  sort  I 
ever  saw  in  a  wolf-dog's  face.  I  raised  my 
gun  again,  when  he  set  up  a  cry,  and  sud- 
denly vanished  among  the  rocks.  That 
look  has  haunted  me.  It  was  a  real  wolf- 
dog,  and  nearly  white." 

"It's  all  very  curious,"  said  Mrs.  Berry. 
"I  should  be  tempted  to  feed  a  dog  with  a 


4  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

cry  like  that.  It  has  some  strange  history. 
I  never  heard  such  a  tone  of  distress  and 
appeal  in  the  cry  of  a  wolf-dog  before.  It 
sounds  almost  human." 

"I  have  a  notion  about  that  cry,"  said 
her  husband.  "The  Indians  sometimes 
capture  a  young  wolf-dog  when  they  find  a 
pack  unusually  sleek  and  handsome,  and 
bring  it  up  in  their  huts  or  wigwams.  Sav- 
age and  wild  as  a  wolf  is,  such  a  pup  be- 
comes much  attached  to  its  owner,  and  they 
say  other  wolves  turn  against  it  if  it  runs 
wild  again.  There  may  be  some  Indian 
who  has  made  a  pet  of  this  particular  dog. 
Or,  maybe  some  lone  Indian  woman 
brought  up  this  little  one  as  her  own  pet. 
She  may  have  been  wandering  out  of  sight 
of  him,  or  she  may  have  lost  him.  He  is 
no  common  beast,  he  knows  something  that 
other  wolf-dogs  don't." 

"Very  well,  then,  we'll  spare  him  if  he 


THE  WOLF-DOG  5 

comes  near  the  house,  unless  he  does  mis- 
chief. ' l 

Mrs.  Berry  had  scarcely  spoken  these 
words  when  the  dog  appeared  in  full  view 
in  the  open  timber.  He  ran  along,  with 
his  head  turned  towards  the  house. 

"He  looks  as  if  he  had  lost  something," 
said  Mr.  Berry.  "I  won't  shoot  him  now. 
The  chances  are  that  he  is  some  Indian's 
tame  dog,  and  not  likely  to  do  harm." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Berry  stood  outside  the 
door.  The  animal  moved  along  the  timber 
in  the  shadows  of  the  low  sunlight,  as  if 
seeking  a  better  acquaintance  with  them, 
but  too  timid  to  venture  nearer.  Then  he 
slowly  passed  from  view  into  the  under- 
brush, when  he  raised  once  again  the  soli- 
tary cry — 

— "oo-oo-ei!" 

The  sun  went  down  red  across  the  tim- 
ber. It  was  autumn,  and  occasionally  the 
wind  shook  the  trees,  making  leaves  fall  in 


6  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

russet  showers.  Night  came  on.  The  hun- 
ter's moon  arose  like  a  night  sun,  in  full 
orbed  glory.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Berry  went 
back  into  their  cabin,  kindled  a  fire  of  pine 
knots,  sat  down  to  their  meal  of  bacon  and 
hominy,  and  talked  of  the  strange  conduct 
of  the  wolf-dog. 

" Somehow,"  said  Mrs.  Berry,  with  tears 
rushing  from  her  eyes,  "I  feel  as  though 
that  wolf-dog  is  connected  with  Sarah." 

Sarah  was  the  lost  child  of  the  family. 
She  had  been  stolen  by  the  Indians  some 
years  before,  and,  though  search  had  been 
made  wherever  possible,  not  even  a  trace 
had  been  found  of  her. 

The  Berry  cabin  stood  in  the  neighbor- 
hood known  as  Beechlands,  and  the  cane 
brakes  and  the  cathedral-like  woods  sur- 
rounded them  wherein  could  be  found  many 
elk  and  deer.  The  sunsets  were  alive  with 
the  wings  of  wild  fowl.  The  honks  of  the 
wild  goose  trumpeted  through  the  air.  It 


THE  WOLF-DOG  7 

was  called  the  Wilderness,  though  it  was  far 
from  being  uninhabited.  There  were  many 
neighbors,  to  most  of  whom  the  Berrys  were 
related. 

Thomas  Lincoln,  who  is  now  best  known 
as  the  father  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  was  a  lad 
of  the  neighborhood  at  this  time,  a  wonder- 
ful lad,  with  the  customary  greeting  of 
"How  fare  ye  all?"  and  the  farewell  of 
"Good  day  to  ye  all."  Like  his  more  cel- 
ebrated son,  he  was  a  famous  story  teller. 
He  was  a  rude  backwoodsman,  in  whom  was 
a  spark  of  genius.  The  spark  flamed  when 
religion  became  a  topic  of  conversation,  or 
when  he  had  a  story  that  sounded  patriarch- 
ial  and  which  he  liked  to  repeat  in  the  tone 
and  spirit  of  the  backwoods  preachers. 


CHAPTEE  II 

IN  OLD  KENTUCKY 

ABOUT  the  time  that  some  of  the  people 
of  the  American  Colonies  were  be- 
ginning their  disputes  with  King  George 
and  his  Ministers  over  unjust  taxes,  there 
were  some  whose  thoughts  turned  more  to 
the  Far  West,  to  the  lands  beyond  the  Alle- 
ghenies,  concerning  which  marvellous 
stories  had  been  told  by  a  few  adventurous 
travelers.  It  may  seem  strange  that,  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years  after  the  settlement 
of  the  colonies,  there  was  so  little  known 
about  that  portion  of  our  country  now  teem- 
ing with  millions  of  people ;  but  there  were 
good  reasons  for  this  situation.  The 
country  east  of  the  Alleghenies  was  still 
sparsely  settled,  except  in  some  sections 

9 


10  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

near  the  sea-coast.  There  were  few  woods 
or  even  trails  over  the  mountains  and, 
moreover,  it  was  long  uncertain  who  owned 
the  Mississippi  Valley. 

After  the  discovery  of  America  it  was 
wholly  or  in  part  claimed  by  various  sov- 
ereigns of  Europe  on  different  pretexts. 
These  sovereigns  had  a  cheerful  way  of 
granting  to  friends  generous  slices  of  ter- 
ritory, usually  under  some  charter,  to  pro- 
mote colonizations.  Not  only  did  these 
kings  and  queens  frequently  give  what 
didn't  belong  to  them  or  was,  at  least,  in 
dispute,  but  they  often  gave  away  the  same 
land  to  different  persons,  with  unfortunate 
results.  The  French  claim  to  any  territory 
east  of  the  Mississippi  and  north  of  Flor- 
ida was  given  up  to  Great  Britain  at  the 
close  of  the  French  and  Indian  War;  and 
very  soon  there  was  an  intense  desire  of 
people  on  the  outskirts  of  civilization  to  get 
across  the  Alleghenies  so  as  to  possess  these 


IN  OLD  KENTUCKY  11 

rich  lands,  not  that  there  was  any  need  to 
go  so  far  to  find  either  unoccupied  land  or 
wild  game ;  for  there  was  plenty  of  it  on  the 
eastern  slope.  There  are  about  three  times 
as  many  people  in  Pennsylvania  to-day  as 
there  were  in  the  thirteen  Colonies  in  1760. 
But  the  mountains  seemed  constantly  to 
beckon  the  settlers.  The  wilderness  had  an 
irresistible  fascination.  Thousands  left 
comfortable  homes  and  comparative  luxury 
to  go  west  and  share  the  dangers  and  ex- 
citements of  pioneer  life.  In  that  day 
there  was  a  great  desire  to  own  as  much 
land  as  possible.  When  Virginia  permit- 
ted settlers  to  get  lands  in  Kentucky  almost 
for  the  asking,  many  rushed  through  the 
gaps  to  pick  out  the  most  desirable  loca- 
tions. 

Daniel  BooBe,  born  in  Pennsylvania,  was 
the  Kentucky  pioneer  who  revealed  this 
section  to  previously  inhabited  America; 
and  his  many  heroic  combats  with  Indians 


12  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

and  wild  beasts  gave  him  a  reputation  that 
is  still  lasting.  He  wandered  first  to  North 
Carolina,  and  then  through  Cumberland 
Gap  reached  Kentucky  and  roamed  through 
the  rich  lands,  supported  by  his  unerring 
rifle.  After  him  came  first  the  pioneers 
who  blazed  the  trails,  located  lands,  and 
then  went  back  for  their  families.  The 
War  of  the  Revolution  checked  the  west- 
ward movement;  but  when  peace  was  re- 
stored, it  was  renewed  on  a  large  scale. 
Many  of  the  settlers  were  soldiers  who  re- 
ceived pay  in  lands.  Almost  all  of  them 
were  of  English  or  Scotch-Irish  descent. 
Most  of  the  English  came  from  Virginia, 
though  some  were  from  other  Colonies  as 
far  north  as  Massachusetts. 

The  Scotch-Irish  were  the  most  numer- 
ous. They  were  descended  from  the  Scotch 
people  who  were  settled  in  the  North  of 
Ireland  for  some  generations,  and  then,  to 
the  number  of  one-sixth  of  our  total  popu- 


IN  OLD  KENTUCKY  13 

lation  at  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
— came  to  this  country.  Great  numbers 
first  settled  in  the  Cumberland  Valley,  and 
thence  passed  into  the  Shenandoah  Valley, 
in  Virginia,  and  on  to  Kentucky. 

In  such  great  numbers  did  these  people 
reach  Kentucky  that  it  became  a  state  in 
1792,  and  already  contained  many  noted 
men.  Kentucky  is,  according  to  its  physi- 
cal characteristics,  divided  into  two  sections. 
The  Western  portion  is  comparatively  level 
and  the  soil  is  perhaps  the  richest  in  the 
world,  except  that  of  Western  Illinois. 
Here  are  the  famous  Blue  Grass  farms, 
where  tobacco,  hemp,  horses,  mules  and  fat 
cattle  are  raised  in  abundance.  Here  many 
of  the  people  became  rich  in  a  brief  space  of 
time;  and  among  them  Henry  Clay  was  a 
political  leader  for  fifty  years. 

The  Eastern  section  is  mountainous,  and 
full  of  fertile  valleys.  Here  many  of  the 
settlers  preferred  to  remain  rather  than 


14  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

seek  the  richer  lowlands  beyond.  They 
cared  little  that  there  were  few  opportuni- 
ties for  wealth.  Few  of  them  desired  the 
luxuries  of  life.  It  was  not  difficult  to 
make  a  living,  and  that  was  all  they  wanted, 
along  with  freedom.  There  is  a  very  old 
saying  that  mountaineers  are  always  free. 
The  people  of  Switzerland  have  maintained 
their  independence  for  nearly  a  thousand 
years,  and  those  of  Scotland  from  time  im- 
memorial. The  people  of  Scotch  blood, 
many  of  Scotch  birth,  found  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Kentucky  exactly  the  conditions 
that  suited  them;  plenty  of  land,  plenty  of 
game,  and  plenty  of  liberty.  There  these 
people  and  their  descendants  have  lived  for 
nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  years,  and  this 
section  of  the  country  has  changed  less  than 
any  other,  until  those  living  to-day  are  the 
same  types  as  the  first  settlers. 

The    families    intermarried    until    there 
arose  great  clans  much  as  in  Scotland;  and 


IN  OLD  KENTUCKY  15 

the  family  feuds  that  have  made  so  much 
sensation  are  quarrels  between  descendants 
of  men  who  used  to  draw  the  claymore  and 
fight  in  the  days  of  the  Douglas  and  Robert 
Bruce. 

The  pioneers  took  with  them  all  that  was 
necessary  for  making  a  living,  and  that  was 
not  a  great  deal.  Every  wife  had  her  loom 
and  spinning  wheel.  In  every  neighbor- 
hood there  was  a  blacksmith  shop,  where 
rifles  were  made;  and  it  was  such  rifles  as 
these  which  annihilated  the  British,  first 
at  King's  Mountain  in  the  War  of  the  Rev- 
olution, and  afterwards  under  Jackson  at 
New  Orleans  in  the  War  of  1812. 

The  men  built  rude  cabins  with  their 
axes.  Sheep,  hogs  and  horses  came  from 
the  East.  Fortunately  two  of  the  great  ne- 
cessities of  frontier  life  were  abundant. 
Salt  was  found  in  numerous  springs,  while 
caves  abounded  with  salt-petre,  from  which 
powder  was  made. 


16  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

And  so,  though  the  pioneers  lived  in  a 
state  of  rude  civilization,  they  were  gen- 
erally comfortable.  Their  few  wants  were 
easily  supplied.  The  women  had  the  hard- 
est time.  They  worked  early  and  late. 
They  spun  the  flax,  carded  the  wool,  and 
wove  the  linen,  jeans  and  linsey-woolsey 
from  which  all  the  garments  were  made. 
They  picked  the  geese  for  feather-beds. 
They  made  the  gardens  and  did  constant 
household  work,  while  the  men  had  more 
leisure  in  which  to  race  horses,  talk  politics, 
or  drink  the  whiskey  made  by  themselves. 

They  were  a  generous-hearted,  brave  and 
impetuous  people.  Theft  was  almost  un- 
known; but  angry  passions  rose  rapidly  in 
political  debates  or  at  any  imputation 
against  honor.  The  people  were  intelli- 
gent, but  generally  uneducated.  There 
were  no  public  schools,  and  few  of  any 
kind.  Occasionally  a  schoolmaster  wrould 
teach  a  " subscription  school,"  but  there 


IN  OLD  KENTUCKY  17 

were  few  mountaineers  who  could  do  more 
than  read  a  very  little  and  write  their 
names ;  while  many  could  not  even  do  that. 
But  they  were  a  religious  people,  and  trav- 
eling ministers  always  had  large  congrega- 
tions. In  their  homes  the  people  discussed 
religion  even  more  than  politics,  and  that 
is  saying  a  great  deal. 

It  was  among  these  people  that  Abraham 
Lincoln  was  born,  and  this  is  the  story  of 
his  mother,  Nancy  Hanks,  a  remarkable 
woman,  even  if  she  had  little  education,  ac- 
cording to  our  ideas. 

In  Northwestern  Kentucky,  in  what  is 
now  called  Washington  county,  there  were 
settled  in  the  latter  part  of  the  18th  century 
a  number  of  people  mostly  of  English  de- 
scent. It  was  in  the  rolling  part  of  the 
state,  far  west  of  the  mountains  and  border- 
ing on  the  Blue  Grass.  Among  these  set- 
tlers were  the  Lincolns,  usually  called  Lin- 
kerns  or  Linkhorns.  The  family  originally 


18           A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

came  from  Massachusetts,  settled  for  a  time 
in  Pennsylvania,  not  very  far  from  Phil- 
adelphia, where  they  were  neighbors  of  the 
Boones,  one  of  whom  was  the  noted  Daniel. 
From  Pennsylvania  the  Lincolns  went  by 
way  of  Virginia  to  a  place  called  Beechland 
in  Kentucky,  not  far  from  Louisville. 

Among  their  neighbors  were  the  Ifcfrrys, 
kind  hearted,  substantial  people,  related  by 
marriage  to  the  Lincolns  and  the  Hankses. 
The  chief  troubles  were  with  the  Indians. 
When  the  white  men  came  there  were  no  red 
men  living  in  Kentucky,  nor  apparently  had 
there  been  for  many  years.  It  was  the 
hunting  ground  for  many  tribes,  North  and 
South,  and  although  for  some  reason  they 
did  not  care  to  live  there,  they  were  deter- 
mined the  white  men  should  not,  because 
they  knew  it  would  destroy  their  game. 

Most  of  these  visiting  Indians  lived  north 
of  the  Ohio,  as  far  west  as  Lake  Michigan. 
They  were  warlike,  brave  and  relentless. 


IN  OLD  KENTUCKY  19 

Apparently  they  were  known  as  warriors 
long  before  the  white  men  came;  for  the 
name  is  said  to  mean  Dark  and  Bloody 
Ground,  owing  to  the  many  battles  fought 
here  between  various  tribes.  The  Indians 
were  particularly  fond  of  the  buffalo  meat 
which  abounded  in  Kentucky,  and  some 
wise  men  have  thought  that  before  the  buf- 
falo came  to  the  section  the  people  were 
agricultural.  This  would  account  for  so 
many  unforested  sections  in  the  state,  as 
well  as  for  the  fact  that  the  Indian  quit  his 
rude  farming  as  soon  as  he  could  get  plenty 
of  buffalo  meat. 

It  is  easy  to  see  how  jealous  the  Indians 
were  of  the  white  men;  for  they  saw  that 
through  them  their  soure  of  living  would 
soon  be  gone.  The  Indians  made  many  des- 
perate attacks  on  the  Kentuckians,  but 
never  came  in  very  great  numbers;  prob- 
ably because  it  was  difficult  to  get  across  the 
Ohio  River.  They  attacked  some  of  the 


20          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

rude  forts  of  the  pioneers,  but  were  more 
apt  to  descend  on  isolated  cabins,  murder 
the  men  and  carry  off  women  and  children 
into  captivity.  Every  settler  worked  with 
his  rifle  near  at  hand,  but  many  of  them 
were  shot  down  by  invisible  foes. 

The  Indian,  or  fear  of  him,  was  a  terror 
by  night  and  day.  Desperate  efforts  had 
been  made  to  annihilate  him,  but  with  only 
partial  success.  The  cry  of  the  settlers 
reached  President  Washington,  then  at 
Philadelphia,  which  was  the  national  cap- 
ital, and  one  of  the  first  efforts  of  his  ad- 
ministration was  to  punish  the  Indians  so 
that  they  would  cease  their  merciless 
marauding.  The  Indians  were  not  to  be 
blamed  for  wanting  to  keep  their  hunt- 
ing grounds;  nor  were  they  wholly  to 
blame  for  their  savage  brutality,  for  most 
unfortunately  they  had  learned  some  of 
these  lessons  from  evil  white  men.  Had 
all  white  people  treated  the  Indians  as 


IN  OLD  KENTUCKY  21 

did  good  William  Penn  and  his  Quaker 
friends,  there  would  be  many  bloody  chap- 
ters missing  from  our  history. 


CHAPTEE  III 

YOUNG   THOMAS  LINCOLN 

THOMAS  LINCOLN  at  sixteen  was 
unusually  tall  and  strong  for  Ms  age, 
and  when  he  worked  he  could  do  as  much 
as  most  men.  He  could  swing  the  broad- 
axe,  but  it  seemed  to  delight  him  more  to 
sit  down  on  the  trunk  of  a  tree  that  he  had 
felled  and  tell  stories.  These  had  a  charm 
in  them,  a  " knack"  about  them,  as  the 
merry  woodchoppers  said.  But  what  stories 
could  this  young  giant  of  strength  tell  in  the 
wilderness!  Where  could  he  have  learned 
stories  ?  Naturally  most  of  them  dealt  with 
tales  of  the  pioneers.  He  had  met  hunters 
and  wayfarers  on  the  trails,  all  of  whom 
had  strange  experiences  to  tell,  startling 
events  in  their  own  lives.  He  had  heard 

23 


24          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

many  tales  of  Daniel  Boone,  who  was  well 
known  to  his  father  and  many  of  the  older 
men  of  Kentucky.  But  his  hero  was  Gen. 
Anthony  Wayne,  commonly  known  as  "Mad 
Anthony."  The  tale  of  Stony  Point  ran 
through  the  Wilderness,  and  thrilled  the 
hunters  by  their  camp  fires.  He  was  known 
as  one  of  the  most  trusted  of  Washington's 
lieutenants,  and  a  thrill  of  delight  went  all 
through  the  West  when  it  was  known  that 
Washington  had  ordered  "Mad  Anthony" 
to  the  Ohio,  to  make  peace  with  the  Indians, 
or  to  compel  peace  by  war.  The  tidings 
ran  from  house  to  house  in  Kentucky. 
"Little  Turtle,"  the  mighty  Indian  chief, 
was  master  of  the  Wilderness  then ;  he  had 
defeated  Gen.  Arthur  St.  Clair,  and  the  In- 
dians of  the  Miami  or  as  it  was  more  com- 
monly called  the  Maumee,  felt  that  lie  was 
the  "lord  of  the  wild."  Some  Kentuckians 
had  fallen  in  the  battle,  but  hundreds  had 
stayed  at  home  because  they  would  not  fight 


YOUNG  THOMAS  LINCOLN  25 

under  St.  Clair,  whose  ability  they  very 
properly  distrusted. 

One  day,  when  young  Thomas  Lincoln 
heard  the  news,  he  dropped  his  broadaxe 
and  sought  for  some  important  person  to 
whom  he  might  tell  the  news.  He  thought 
of  the  Berrys,  who  lived  a  few  miles  away, 
though  the  distance  counted  for  little  in 
those  days.  As  he  neared  the  cabin  he  saw 
a  girl  standing  in  the  door.  Tossing  his  hat 
into  the  air,  he  shouted — 

"Hoorah!" 

The  girl  came  out  to  meet  him. 

"Why  do  you  scream  out?"  said  she; 
"have  you  found  Sarah?" 

"Sarah?"  said  he,  holding  his  hat  in  the 
air.  "Who  is  Sarah?  and  who  are  you?" 

"I  am  Nancy." 

"Nancy  who?" 

"Nancy  Hanks,  and  I  have  come  to  live 
with  Aunt  Berry  and  Betty  Sparrow. 
Don't  you  know?  I  was  left  all  alone,  and 


26  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

Aunt  Berry  she  takes  children.  Sarah  is 
coming  to  live  with  her  when  she  returns 
from  captivity.  Aunt  Berry  was  often 
known  from  her  earlier  name  of  Sparrow. 
What  is  your  name1?" 

"Thomas." 

"Thomas  what?" 

"Thomas  lumkern." 

"Your  folks  came  from  the  east?" 

"Yes,  pioneers." 

"Mine  were,  too.  Aunt  Berry!"  she 
called. 

*Aunt  Berry  came  to  the  door,  running 
and  shaking  her  apron  before  her  face. 

"Thomas?" 

"That  I  am.  Great  news!  It  mak'es  my 
soul  go  out  of  me.  Hoorray!" 

"Is  it  Sarah?" 

"No,  no,  but  it  will  mean  that.  General 
"Wayne,  'Mad  Anthony'  of  Stony  Point,  is 
coming  to  the  Ohio  to  subdue  the  Indians, 
and  he  will  do  it.  He  will  pluck  the  f  eath- 


THOMAS   THREW    HIMSELF  ON   THE  GROUND 


YOUNG  THOMAS  LINCOLN  27 

ers  of  Little  Turtle.    Did  you  ever  hear  the 
story  of  Mad  Anthony  at  Stony  Point?" 

"No,  tell  us,  anything  that  seems  to  prom- 
-  ise  the  return  of  Sarah  will  do  me  good  just 


now.r 


Thomas  threw  himself  on  the  ground. 
Mother  Berry  and  Nancy  sat  down  in  the 
doorway.  The  woods  were  still,  save  for 
the  singing  of  birds. 

"It  was  this  way,"  he  began.  "Wayne 
was  born  of  the  wind;  he  had  the  tempest 
in  him,  madness  in  him,  the  people  said. 
That  isn't  true,  for  my  father,  who  knew 
him,  said  he  was  always  cool  in  danger. 
But  he  was  called  "mad"  really  because 
nothing  could  stop  him.  Some  of  his  sol- 
diers were  at  the  execution  of  Andre!  That 
must  have  saddened  his  eyes,  for  they  say 
that  he  has  a  great  heart.  Wayne,  Wayne, 
he  is  coming  to  bring  back  Sarah.  Wash- 
ington has  told  him  to  do  so." 

"Did  Washington  really  say  that?" 


28          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"His  soul  said  it." 

"To  Wayne?" 

"To  Little  Turtle.  He  the  same  as  told 
Little  Turtle  that  he  would  have  to  send 
Sarah  back." 

"And  all  so  far  awayj" 

"The  wind  has  wings." 

Nancy  was  all  wonder  now.  She,  as  well 
as  young  Thomas,  had  imagination. 

"What  has  this  to  do  with  Stony  Point?" 
she  asked. 

"It  was  this  way,"  said  Thomas,  glad  of 
the  question.  "Stony  Point  had  to  be 
taken,  and  when  a  thing  was  to  be  done  in 
the  Revolution,  Wayne  was  the  man  to  do 
it.  So  Washington,  after  Wayne  had  pro- 
posed the  expedition,  organized  a  corps  of 
light  infantry,  to  fly  as  it  were,  and  put 
Wayne  in  command,  and  said  to  him :  '  You 
must  take  Stony  Point.'  'That  is  impos- 
sible,' said  the  war  council  in  their  hearts." 


YOUNG  THOMAS  LINCOLN  29 


.. 


'Stony  Point?  What  was  Stony 
Point?"  asked  Nancy. 

"It  was  a  fortress  on  a  high  hill  that 
rose  over  the  Hudson  River.  The  British 
held  it,  and  had  made  it,  as  they  thought,  so 
strong  that  no  army  could  take  it.  It  could, 
they  thought,  easily  hurl  back  ten  thousand 
men.  It  was  surrounded  by  a  double  row 
of  abatis,  as  the  breastworks  were  called. 
The  waters  of  the  Hudson  flowed  on  three 
sides  of  it.  Over  all  rose  the  cannon  whose 
blasts  would  hurl  down  regiments  were  they 
to  attempt  to  ascend. 

"  i Stony  Point  is  impregnable,'  said  the 
British;  'it  will  hold  the  Hudson  forever!' 
And  indeed  there  were  few  soldiers  in  the 
world  who  would  have  made  the  attempt. 

"  'Stony  Point  shall  fall,'  said  Wayne — 
Mad  Anthony,  who  was  only  mad  when  he 
thought  of  the  way  the  British  soldiers  had 
treated  his  countrymen. 

"In  the  middle  of  July,  1779,  Mad  An- 


30  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

thony,  with  his  flying  troopers,  started  to 
obey  Washington's  orders.  He  had  once 
said  to  Washington,  "I  would  go  to  the  Bot- 
tomless Pit  if  you  were  to  command  me!' 
They  traveled  by  hidden  ways  so  as  to  ar- 
rive at  the  fortress,  that  loomed  over  the 
river,  in  the  evening. 

"They  saw  the  evening  lights  on  the  hill 
gleaming  in  the  air  over  the  river  and  the 
morasses.  Wayne  now  led  his  infantry  in 
Indian  file,  silently,  carefully  along  the 
broken  shores  to  the  point  from  which  the 
last  dash  was  to  be  made. 

"Midnight  came.  The  lights  in  the  for- 
tress began  to  grow  pale.  The  garrison 
slept,  save  for  the  few  pickets  on  guard. 

"Wayne  now  divided  his  men  into  two 
parties.  He  compelled  them  to  unload  their 
guns  lest  one,  being  accidentally  discharged, 
should  give  the  alarm.  Then  he  said,  'To 
your  bayonets  now !  If  any  man  falters,  let 
the  nearest  officer  give  him  the  steel!'  It 


YOUNG  THOMAS  LINCOLN  31 

was  evident  that  many,  if  not  all,  were  to 
fall,  but  forty  men  were  picked  out  as  the 
forlorn  hope ! 

"He  placed  twenty  of  these  before  each 
division  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  men. 
These  two  bands  of  twenty  were  to  break 
the  way,  and  over  their  dead  bodies  those 
behind  were  to  rush  into  the  fort.  Then 
they  marched  up  the  hill  in  silence. 

"'All's  well!' 

"So  rang  out  the  voice  of  the  sentinels 
here  and  there. 

"They  could  hear  those  voices  echoing 
each  other  in  the  night — 'All's  well,  all's 
well!' 

"When  Wayne  heard  the  cry,  'All's  well !' 
he  said  'Forward!' 

"A  wild  alarm  from  the  fort  rent  the 
air.  'Awake!  arm!  We  are  surrounded!' 

"There  was  a  sudden  terror.  Then  the 
fort  blazed.  Wayne's  soldiers  fell.  Wayne 
himself  fell.  'March  on!'  said  he.  'Carry 


32          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

me  into  the  fort,  for  I  will  die  there  at  the 
head  of  the  column ! ' 

"He  did  not  die.  The  British  fled.  It 
was  one  of  the  greatest  feats  of  daring  in 
the  history  of  the  world.  That  man  is  com- 
ing to  the  Ohio  to  bring  back  Sarah.  Hur- 
rah for  Anthony  Wayne!" 

He  told  this  tale  with  many  gestures.  He 
put  his  soul  into  it  and  acted  it.  He  used 
unusual  words  for  a  young  man  of  the  Wil- 
derness. 

Nancy  was  all  eyes  and  ears.  She  lis- 
tened and  wondered.  She  had  come  to  live 
with  her  "Aunt"  Lucy  Berry  and  the  Spar- 
rows, who  were  her  cousins.  l '  Aunt  Berry ' ' 
was  the  name  given  her  by  most  of  the  peo- 
ple in  the  neighborhood,  and  "Mother 
Berry"  by  the  members  of  her  own  family. 

Nancy  Hanks  had  journeyed  with  a  party 
from  Virginia  to  Kentucky  when  she  was 
five  years  old.  The  party  with  whom  she 
had  traveled  had  often  been  alarmed  by 


YOUNG  THOMAS  LINCOLN  33 

panthers  and  other  wild  beasts.  They  were 
often  surrounded  by  hostile  Indians.  Her 
people  had  suffered  much  from  the  Indians, 
so  that  when  she  heard  that  this  wonderful 
General  Wayne  was  coming  to  drive  away 
the  savages  and  restore  her  long  lost  cousin 
Sarah,  her  heart  welled  up  with  joy,  and 
she  burst  into  tears  that  amazed  Thomas, 
who  could  not  at  first  understand  that  this 
was  a  girl's  way  of  expressing  happiness. 

Then,  after  hearing  the  story,  turning  to 
Thomas,  she  said: 

"I  am  glad  that  Wayne  is  coming  to  the 
Wilderness." 

"So  am  I.  I  hate  the  Indians  like 
pizen,"  replied  Thomas.  "If  any  boy  has 
a  right  to  hate  them  it  is  I.  My  brother 
Mordecai  used  to  drop  down  an  Indian  by 
sight." 

"But  there  is  a  saving  remnant  in  all  peo- 
ple's hearts,"  said  Nancy  compassionately; 
"so  the  preachers  say,  and  I  think  that  to 


34          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

change  the  hearts  of  people  is  better  than  to 
kiU  them." 

" Thomas,"  she  continued,  "they  say  that 
you  are  in  some  way  a  relative  of  mine,  a 
distant  connection.  If  so,  we  ought  to  be 
friends,  and  you  ought  to  go  into  the  Wilder- 
ness and  try  to  find  Sarah.  She  will  be  a 
sister  to  me  when  she  returns  from  captiv- 
ity, and  you  would  be  a  brother  to  her  too, 
and  how  much  comfort  we  would  all  take 
together." 

"Yes,"  said  Thomas,  "I  would  strike 
down  the  Indian  that  carried  her  away,  just 
as  my  brother  Mordecai  used  to  do.  He 
was  like  a  lightning  flash  when  he  saw  an 
Indian.  He  never  forgot." 

"Thomas,  a  good  Indian  may  have  car- 
ried her  away." 

"A  good  Indian!  A  good  one!  Oh, 
Nancy,  what  a  simple  heart  you  have! 
You  believe  something  good  of  everyone.  I 
can  see  what  a  heart  you  have!  But  the 


YOUNG  THOMAS  LINCOLN  35 

idea  of  a  good  Indian,  that  seems  queer  to 
me  after  all  our  family  has  suffered." 

"But,  Cousin  Thomas,  let  me  call  you 
'Cousin';  you  would  be  glad  to  think  there 
are  some  good  Indians,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Yes,  Nancy,  I  would  be  glad  to  believe 
that  there  is  something  good  in  everyone, 
even  in  the  heart  of  a  wolf." 

"Well,  Cousin  Thomas,  let  me  get  a  lit- 
tle nearer  yet  to  your  heart.  Some  Indian 
may  be  protecting  Sarah  in  the  wilderness. 
Now  you  go  out  and  find  her.  Find  her  for 
me.  You  would  make  my  heart  so  happy  if 
you  would  only  find  her  for  me. 

"That  is  a  good  heart  you  have,  Nancy. 
I  will  make  a  long  hunt  for  Sarah  for  your 
sake  some  day,  Nancy." 

"And  for  the  sake  of  Sarah  herself,  you 
mean'?" 

"Yes,  for  the  sake  of  Sarah." 

"And  for  the  Indian's  sake." 

"Well,  that  might  be." 


36  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"And  for  your  own  sake.  Thomas,  for 
your  own  sake,"  said  Nancy,  her  face  glow- 
ing. "You  may  find  something  in  an  In- 
dian's heart  that  will  make  for  us  all  a  hap- 
pier life." 

"Oh,  Nancy,  I  am  glad  I  have  found  you 
here.  What  a  heart  you  have  to  feel  for 
everybody." 

And  the  boy  and  girl  of  two  broken  fam- 
ilies in  the  Wilderness  were  from  that  hour 
close  friends.  The  three  families,  the 
Berrys,  the  Sparrows  and  the  Hankses  were 
cousins  or  "connections,"  and  Thomas 
Lincoln  was  also  a  "connection"  of  the 
three  families  and  of  the  lost  Sarah  and  of 
Nancy  Hanks. 

Nancy  sat  on  the  doorstep,  thinking. 

"You  said  you  would  go  out  in  the  wilder- 
ness and  look  for  Sarah  for  me  some  day/' 
said  she.  "I  do  not  like  the  far-off  sound 
of  those  words  'some  day.'  It  is  like  me  to 
do  things  now.  When  Aunt  Berry  asks  me 


YOUNG  THOMAS  LINCOLN  37 

to  spin  a  carding  of  wool,  I  go  right  at  it  and 
I  spin.  The  carding  turns  into  yarn. 
Don't  I  make  the  wheel  go  round,  Aunt 
Berry?" 

"Yes,  you  do,  Nancy,  and  you  are  a  good 
girl,  one  who  goes  before  you  are  sent.  You 
don't  follow;  you  lead.  Thomas,  here,  fol- 
lows. You  must  make  to-day  to-morrow. 
He  is  too  much  inclined  to  trust  to  'some 
day.'  " 

"OO-ee-ei!" 

"There  is  that  dog  again,"  said  Aunt 
Berry. 

"You  go  out  into  the  timber  and  see  what 
he  means,"  said  Nancy  to  Thomas. 

Thomas  went  out  into  the  timber,  but  did 
not  return.  He  probably  looked  for  the 
dog,  but  concluded  that  he  would  return  to 
his  own  home  now,  and  follow  up.  the  mys- 
tery of  the  dog  some  other  day. 

As  for  little  Nancy,  she  went  back  to  her 
duties  in  the  cabin.  Day  after  day,  as  she 


38          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

spun  or  carded,  she  thought  of  Thomas,  and 
wondered  if  he  really  would  go  after  her 
lost  cousin.  She  was  a  merry-hearted  girl 
who  loved  to  see  every  one  happy.  The  ori- 
oles sang  while  they  spun  their  nests  in  the 
high  sunny  tops  of  the  trees  that  seemed  to 
lean  over  the  earth  from  the  skies.  She 
liked  to  watch  them  while  at  work  spinning 
and  singing. 

She  not  only  spun  for  herself,  but  for 
others.  She  went  cheerfully  to  any  of  the 
neighbors  to  spin  and  sing,  or  to  help  any 
one  in  need.  She  liked  to  go  to  the  houses 
around  Beechlands  to  work,  that  she  might 
talk  about  Sarah,  and  perhaps  find  some 
new  clue  of  her  yet  unseen  sister  in  the 
Wilderness. 

One  day  she  went  to  spin  for  a  Mrs. 
Speed,  an  infirm  widow  lady.  She  spun 
there  often,  in  summer  time,  by  the  open 
door.  The  cardinal  flashed  by  at  times  on 
red  wings.  The  old  lady  and  Nancy  en- 


YOUNG  THOMAS  LINCOLN  39 

joyed  the  landscape  of  meadows  and 
streams  that  was  full  of  sunshine  and  song. 

"Mrs.  Speed,"  said  Nancy,  "I  love  to  talk 
on  things  that  relate  to  our  future  life.  Did 
you  ever  have  any  doubt  that  we  would  live 
hereafter?" 

"None,  Nancy." 

A  meadow  lark  arose  in  the  air  on  its 
little  strong,  gray  wings,  and  began  to  sing. 
The  song,  like  that  of  the  English  skylark, 
seemed  to  spread. 

"Nancy,"  said  Mrs.  Speed,  "can  you  be- 
lieve that  that  bird  was  once  an  egg?" 

"I  must." 

"And  that  its  wing  was  once  confined  by 
a  shell,  and  that  an  instinct  led  it  to  break 
the  shell,  and  to  find  the  air?" 

"I  must,"  said  Nancy,  stopping  in  her  in- 
terest. 

"And  the  instinct  of  the  song  was  once 
in  the  egg,  and  that  the  joy  of  the  song 


40  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

was  also  in  the  egg,  or  the  instinct  of  the 
joy  of  the  song?" 

"Yes,"  said  Nancy. 

"Then,  my  girl,  what  can  you  not  be- 
lieve?" 

The  lark  came  down  to  its  nest. 

"I  see  the  mystery  of  life  now,"  said 
Nancy. 

"Then  spin  on  and  sing.  The  things  that 
are  unseen  are  eternal.  But,  Nancy,  Nancy, 
look  there. " 

An  old  Indian  woman  with  a  light  robe 
had  come  in  full  view  out  into  the  open. 
She  strode  along  stoutly,  stopping  at  times, 
and  keeping  back  a  little  girl  with  a  side 
pressure  of  her  hand.  Before  her  ran,  or 
rather  leaped,  a  little  dog. 

Nancy  rose  up.  Mrs.  Speed  beckoned  to 
the  Indian  woman.  The  girl  who  had  been 
held  back  came  into  view,  and  called  in 
pure  English: 

"Sing — she  wants  you  to  sing." 


YOUNG  THOMAS  LINCOLN  41 

"Who  wants  me  to  sing1?"  said  Nancy. 

"Mother." 

"Come  to  us,  and  I  will  sing,"  said  Nancy. 

"Oo-oi!" 

Nancy  leaped  up.  "Sarah?"  she  called 
doubtfully. 

The  old  woman  uttered  a  cry  and  began  to 
hobble  away,  holding  by  the  wrist  the  girl 
who  had  spoken  the  English  words.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  two  had  disappeared  in  the 
bushes  that  grew  by  the  river.  Suddenly 
an  Indian  who  had  approached  from  the 
timber  at  the  back  of  the  house  stood  before 
them,  and  said  in  a  broken  voice : 

"She  hide  from  white  folk.  Moo-May 
she  lub  the  little  white  child.  She  hide  her 
— the  little  dog — he  watch.  When  the  little 
dog  he  scent  danger,  he  say  'oo-oi'  " — im- 
itating the  dog. 

Nancy  jumped  at  the  imitation. 

"Go  find  the  little  white  girl,"  said  she. 
"I'll  give  you  money,  wampum." 


42          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"She  no  come  back.  She  lub  her  mud- 
der  and  the  little  dog.  Her  mudder  and  the 
little  dog  lub  her,  and  he  say  'oo-oi'  to  hide 
her  away. 

Mrs.  Speed  brought  to  the  Indian  bread 
and  butter,  which  he  called  honey. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Mrs.  Speed. 

The  Indian  sat  down  and  ate. 

"Who  is  the  old  Indian  woman ?"  asked 
Nancy. 

"Ask  the  bushes — ask  the  air — I  know 
not." 

"Who  is  the  little  girl?"  asked  Nancy. 

"I  no — know." 

"Go  with  me— help  find  her?"  asked 
Nancy. 

"No-go." 

"Why?" 

"Old  woman  she  carry  an  arrow  under 
her  feather  blanket.  She  shoot  keen.  I  go 
away  now." 

He  went  into  the  timber,  and  Nancy  took 


YOUNG  THOMAS  LINCOLN  43 

up  her  work  again,  telling  Mrs.  Speed  above 
the  buzzing  of  the  wheel  the  story  of  the 
lost  Sarah. 

Nancy  was  thoughtful  after  the  story. 
Sarah  haunted  her — was. this  girl  she  had 
seen  the  lost  Sarah? 

She  looked  up  to  Mrs.  Speed  over  the  still 
wheel. 

"  What  you  said  to  me  about  the  bird  and 
the  egg,"  said  she, " leads  me  to  see  the  value 
of  the  soul/' 

" There  is  no  value  but  soul  value,"  said 
Mrs.  Speed.  ' '  Spirit  is  the  only  reality. ' ' 

"What  can  I  do,  a  poor  orphan  girl,  to 
make  myself  useful  to  the  world?" 

"Help  everyone,  and  hinder  none.  For- 
give everyone,  as  you  say  the  Lord's  Prayer. 
Forget  yourself  and  make  your  life  a  sac- 
rifice." 

"That  I  will,"  said  Nancy,  "Sarah  can 
be  found  if  she  is  still  living,  and  I  will  not 
rest  until  I  find  her." 


44          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"  'He  that  seeketh  findeth,'  is  a  law  of 
life,"  said  Mrs.  Speed. 

It  was  very  common  for  people  in  those 
days  to  quote  Scripture,  and  many  of  their 
expressions  were  much  the  same  as  Shakes- 
pere  used. 

Nancy  went  home  in  the  evening.  The 
night  birds  were  singing — the  lonely  whip- 
poor-will — and  she  too  sang  as  she  passed 
along  the  timbers,  into  which  the  great  moon 
shone  like  a  night  sun,  glimmering  in  the 
woodland  streams. 

As  she  neared  home  she  heard  a  cry.  It 
ended  in  ' '  oo-oi ! ' '  Had  the  mysterious  dog 
heard  her  footsteps  ?  Did  he  know  that  she 
was  dangerous  to  those  whom  he  was  guard- 
ing? Should  she  hurry  towards  him  and 
awaken  that  cry  again? 

She  resolved  to  do  so  at  any  risk.  She 
hastened  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
sound  came. 

The  quiet  woodland  meadows  appeared 


YOUNG  THOMAS  LINCOLN  45 

amid  gathering  dews.  The  grouse  flew  up 
from  the  sea  of  moonlight.  She  listened 
here  and  there. 

Silence. 

And  after  watching  a  long  time  she  went 
home.  The  next  day  she  went  again  to  the 
same  place,  but  could  find  no  trace  of  any 
human  being. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PEIDY,  THE  HEIFER 

THOMAS  LINCOLN  soon  again  came 
to  the  Berrys  and  told  another  heroic 
story.  A  curious  thing  happened. 

A  cow  came  up  to  the  door  from  the 
sweet-grass  fields,  and  lay  down  in  the  yard 
before  the  door. 

"She  acts  as  if  she  were  one  of  the  fam- 
ily," said  Thomas. 

"She  is,"  said  Nancy.    "That  is  Peidy." 

"Is  she  yours?"  asked  Thomas. 

"Yes,  my  father  left  her  to  me  in  his  will. 
He  bequeathed,  as  the  will  said,  one  heifer 
yearling,  called  'Gentle/  to  his  daughter 
Elizabeth,  one  heifer  yearling  to  his  daugh- 
ter Polly,  which  heifer  was  called  'Lady,' 
and  one  heifer  yearling,  'Peidy/  to  his 

47 


48  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

daughter  Nancy,  and  that  cow  was  the 
heifer  'Peidy.'  " 

"She  will  soon  be  an  old  cow,"  said 
Thomas. 

"Yes,  but  I  brought  her  up  from  a  calf, 
and  for  father's  sake  I  always  want  to  keep 
her.  She  was  mother's  as  well  as  mine,  for 
all  the  property  was  mother's  while  she 
lived,  but  when  she  had  to  give  up  any- 
thing she  would  say  to  me,  'Nancy,  always 
keep  Peidy.'  The  animal  is  like  one  of  the 
family  to  me.  See,  I  have  built  a  shelter 
for  her  out  there,  and  when  she  is  lonesome 
she  comes  and  lies  down  on  the  grass  in  the 
yard  near  me.  She  understands  me,  and  I 
her;  she  knows  her  name,  and  will  come  to 
me  when  I  call  her,  and  I  hang  a  bell  on  her 
neck  when  she  goes  into  the  timber.  She 
always  comes  home  at  night  to  be  milked.  I 
keep  an  old  milk  pail  and  stool,  and  I  some- 
times wear  the  old  milk  pail  on  my  head 
when  it  rains,  and  I  have  kept  the  same 


PEIDY,  THE  HEIFER  49 

milking  stool  for  years — see  it  out  there,  the 
one  with  three  legs. 

"Peidy  always  comes  to  me  when  she  gets 
into  trouble.  When  she  was  attacked  by  a 
wildcat  that  leaped  upon  her  neck,  she  ran 
home  to  me  and  I  beat  off  the  wildcat  with 
the  milking  stool.  In  the  winter  she  will 
come  in  the  afternoon  and  chew  her  cud 
before  the  western  window,  where  I  work, 
and  in  the  summer  days  she  ,vpll  stand  look- 
ing into  the  door  to  see  me  spin." 

Thomas  thought  to  himself  that  it  was 
strange  a  girl  should  have  a  cow  for  a  pet. 
He  liked  squirrels  better,  but  he  thought 
it  wise  to  say  nothing  of  that,  and  so  praised 
her  spinning. 

"Nancy  is  lively  at  spinning,"  said 
Mother  Berry.  "She  outspins  the  girls  of 
all  the  country  around,  and  she  can  sing — 
did  you  ever  hear  her  sing? — just  like  a 
nightingale." 


50          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"I  never  heard  a  nightingale  sing,"  said 
Thomas. 

"Nor  did  I,"  said  Mother  Berry,  but  I 
have  heard  they  sing  better  than  any  other 
bird.  She  can  turn  a  tune.  She  sings  the 
campmeeting  songs — as: 

What  ship  is  this  that  is  now  sailing  by  ? 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  ship?"  asked 
Thomas. 

"No,  no/'^said  Mother  Berry.  "But 
song  folks  most  like  to  sing  about  things 
they  have  never  seen.  I  like  such  songs 
as — 

And  oft  upon  Araby's  green  sunny  high- 
lands. I  don't  know  where  Araby  is,  but 
that  don't  matter  as  long  as  it  is  in  my  head. 
Nancy,  sing  to  Thomas,  My  brother,  7  wish 
you  well." 

Nancy  "tuned  up"  to  use  the  wilderness 
phrase,  and  gave  the  camp  meeting  greet- 
ing. 

"She    learned    these    songs    from    her 


PEIDY,  THE  HEIFER  51 

mother.  The  camp  meeting  in  Virginia  had 
been  the  event  of  the  year."  "Now,"  said 
Mother  Berry, ' '  Sing  the  new  camp  meeting 
song  of  the  wilderness : 

There's  the  sound  of  a  gong  in  the  mul- 
berry trees. 

Queerly  enough  Nancy  changed  her  po- 
sition, and  sat  down  by  Peidy  as  she  sang 
this  "great"  song.  The  words  of  the  song 
predicted  a  coming  religious  revival. 

"Now  sing  the  song  of  all  songs,  the  one 
that  flies,  and  goes  round  and  round  and 
round  and  round.  It  always  makes  me 
want  to  dance.  I  used  to  dance  in  Virginia. 
Peidy  likes  that  song." 

"How  do  you  know  that,  Mother 
Berry?" 

"Peidy  always  shakes  the  bushy  part  of 
her  tail  when  she  likes  anything.  Nancy, 
sing  'Canaan'  to  Thomas.  It  is  a  very  up- 
lifting and  happyfymg  song.  I  like  happy- 
fying  music — it  makes  the  future  look 


82          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

bright.  A  soul  is  always  happy  as  long  as 
it  has  bright  prospects,  as  long  as  it  feels 
that  it  is  moving  on  towards  something 
higher." 

Nancy  sang  "Canaan"  and  made  the 
woods  ring.  She  repeated  the  word 
"happy"  in  the  chorus,  "My  happy,  happy 
home,"  and  clapped  her  hands  in  the  old 
Methodist  way  as  she  did  so.  Mother  Berry 
turned  her  eyes  towards  the  skies  as  the 
phrase  came  into  the  chorus,  and  clapped 
her  hands  also. 


Together  let  us  sweetly  live,  I  am  bound  for  the  land 

of  Canaan. 
Together  let  us  sweetly  die,  I  am  bound  for  the  land 

of  Canaan. 
O  Canaan,  bright  Canaan,  I  am  bound  for  the  land 

of  Canaan; 

0  Canaan,  it  is  my  happy  home,  I  am  bound  for  the 
land  of  Canaan. 

If  you  get  there,  before  I  do,  I  am  bound  for  the  land 

of  Canaan. 
Look  out  for  me,  I  'm  coming,  too,  I  am  bound  for  the 

land  of  Canaan. 
0  Canaan,  bright  Canaan,  I  am  bound  for  the  land 

of  Canaan. 


PEIDY,  THE  HEIFER  53 

O  Canaan,  it  is  my  happy  home,  I  am  bound  for  the 

land  of  Canaan. 
I  have  some  friends  before  me  gone,  I  am  bound  for 

the  land  of  Canaan. 
0  Canaan,  bright  Canaan,  I  am  bound  for  the  land 

of  Canaan. 
O  Canaan,  it  is  my  happy  home,  I  am  bound  for  the 

land  of  Canaan. 

Our  songs  of  praise  shall  fill  the  skies,  I'm  bound  for 

the  land  of  Canaan. 
While  still  their  joys  they  rise,  I  am  bound  for  the 

land  of  Canaan. 
O  Canaan,  bright  Canaan,  I  am  bound  for  the  land 

of  Canaan. 
0  Canaan,  it  is  my  happy  home,  I  am  bound  for  the 

land  of  Canaan. 
Then  come  with  me,  beloved  friend,  I  am  bound  for 

the  land  of  Canaan. 
The  joys  of  heaven  shall  never  end,  I  am  bound  for 

the  land  of  Canaan. 
0  Canaan,  bright  Canaan,  I  am  bound  for  the  land 

of  Canaan. 

0  Canaan,  it  is  my  happy  home,  I  am  bound  for  the 
land  of  Canaan. 

And  Peidy  wiggled  her  bushy  tail  as  in  a 
state  of  great  satisfaction. 

"And  to  think  that  we  can  have  all  that 
and  Kentucky,  too,"  said  Mother  Berry. 

Those  were  merry  days  in  the  wilderness 


54          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

of  Kentucky,  save  for  the  ever-present  fear 
of  Indians  or  wolves. 

Nancy  had  learned  much  from  the  camp- 
meetings,  which  were  a  sort  of  spiritual 
school  in  the  wilderness,  and  which  all  peo- 
ple attended  as  the  club  social  occasions  as 
well  as  for  religious  purposes.  She  had  a 
mind  that  was  always  associating  itself  with 
what  was  superior,  and  such  minds  grow. 
Her  aunt  had  sent  her  to  a  girls'  school, 
and  she  had  been  taught  to  read  and  to  write. 
She  always  sought  the  company  of  those 
who  knew  the  most,  and  often  wished  she 
could  learn  more  and  have  many  books  to 
read. 

"Nancy  has  a  lively  mind,"  said  Thomas. 
' '  She  would  be  something  in  the  world  if  she 
had  a  chance." 

And  Nancy  was  trying  to  make  something 
out  of  Thomas,  whose  chief  theme  was 
hatred  of  the  red  men. 

"  There  is  something  good  to  be  found 


PEIDY,  THE  HEIFER  55 

even  in  an  Indian,"  she  said  to  Thomas  one 
day  when  he  came  over  to  visit  her  and  hear 
the  hum  of  the  spinning-wheel. 

"Don't  say  that,  Nancy,"  said  he. 
"Think  of  Sarah;  but  Wayne  is  coming  on 
the  wings  of  the  wind.  He  will  clear  the 
woods  of  Indians,  wolves  and  wildcats. 
Wait  and  see." 

Nancy's  eyes  of  imagination  glowed. 

"And  you  must  follow  Wayne  in  search 
for  Sarah,"  said  she.  "That  will  be  a 
happy  day  to  us  all  when  she  returns  from 
captivity." 

She  seemed  to  see  Wayne  flying  on  wings 
through  the  wilderness,  the  Indians  fleeing 
before  him,  and  Thomas  bringing  back  the 
lost  Sarah  to  her  after  the  war,  and  she 
fancied  that  she  would  teach  Sarah  to  spin, 
and  that  together  they  would  outspin  all  the 
girls  in  the  country  around. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  SEARCH  FOR  SARAH 

A  LTHOUGH  Nancy's  thoughts  were 
-£A-  constantly  on  Sarah,  it  did  not  inter- 
fere with  her  tasks.  Her  deft  fingers  were 
constantly  at  work  with  wool  and  flax,  so 
that  she  really  astonished  everyone  as  a 
spinner  among  women  who  had  spun  all 
their  lives  and  considered  it  their  chief  ac- 
complishment. Her  social  position  was  the 
same  as  that  of  the  young  girl  who  is  the 
most  expert  piano  player  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. With  Peidy  chewing  her  cud  before 
the  open  door  and  the  birds  all  singing  in 
the  sunny  tops  of  the  trees,  how  her  wheel 
would  buzz  and  fly!  Old  people  came  and 
sat  on  the  wooden  door-step  just  to  hear  the 

wheel  go  round. 

57 


58          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

She  liked  to  sing  as  she  spun.  Thomas 
Lincoln  liked  to  come  over  to  the  Berry 
cabin  and  throw  himself  on  the  grass  beside 
Peidy.  He  would  listen  to  Nancy's  songs 
of  the  Wilderness  as  her  wheel  buzzed.  His 
fancy  was  an  active  one;  but  he  couldn't 
think  well  if  he  worked,  and,  though  he 
wasn't  exactly  lazy,  he  was  not  energetic 
except  by  spells. 

One  day,  as  he  was  thus  listening  to 
Nancy's  singing,  the  wheel  suddenly  stop- 
ped. 

"  Thomas!" 

"Well,  what  is  it  now,  Nancy?" 

"When  are  you  going  into  the  wilder- 
ness to  look  for — " 

"A  good  Indian,  Nancy?" 

"No,  to  look  for  Sarah?" 

"As  soon  as  Wayne's  troops  are  here." 

"Thomas,  I  sometimes  think  Sarah  passes 
around  here  with  an  Indian  guide  in  the 
night.  She  does  not  know  me.  She  cannot 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  SARAH  59 

know  you.  She  would  not  know  Mother 
Berry,  but  the  Indian  who  owned  her  might 
know  who  Mother  Berry  was.  I  think  of 
Sarah  all  the  time.  I  want  you  to  go  out 
and  have  a  long  search  for  her.  You  are  al- 
ways promising  to  do  so.  Why  don't  you 
doit?" 

"  Would  you  be  willing  that  I  should 
bring  back  with  Sarah  the  squaw  who  owned 
her?"  asked  Thomas. 

"Yes." 

"What  would  you  do  with  the  squaw?" 

"I  should  change  her  heart.  I  would 
make  her  a  friend  to  both  Sarah  and  me." 

"I  will  make  a  long  hunt  to  find  her  if  I 
need  to,  after  Wayne  and  his  men  pass  by." 

"  *  Reuben  went  to  the  pit  and  Joseph  was 
not  there/  '  said  Nancy,  quoting  an  old 
campmeeting  text.  "I  will  tell  you  what 
I  am  going  to  do,  Thomas.  Mother  Berry 
has  more  plates  than  she  needs.  I  am  go- 


60  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

ing  to  put  an  empty  plate  on  the  table  every 
time  we  eat." 

"What  for,  Nancy?" 

"To  keep  Sarah  in  mind.  I  would  want 
to  be  remembered  if  I  were  wandering  alone 
in  the  wilderness." 

And  so  Nancy  placed  the  empty  plate  on 
the  table  every  day,  and,  as  often  as  a  trav- 
eler or  a  wayfarer  asked  the  family  concern- 
ing it,  she  would  answer : 

"It  is  for  Sarah  when  she  returns  from 
captivity." 

Thomas  could  not  read  or  write,  but  he 
had  learned  much  even  in  his  'teens  from  the 
forest  philosophers  whom  he  had  met,  and 
Nancy  thought  him  an  unusually  smart  boy, 
and  such  he  really  was.  She  liked  to  talk 
with  him.  On  his  visits  he  often  brought 
his  broadaxe  with  him. 

One  day,  when  Peidy  was  chewing  her 
cud  beneath  the  cool  maples  near,  Nancy 
questioned  Thomas  in  regard  to  his  broad- 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  SARAH  61 

axe,  which  was  one  of  the  most  essential 
tools  of  the  pioneer. 

"Do  you  ask  me  about  my  axe  made  from 
the  iron  of  the  earth?  Well,  you  may  fix 
your  eye  upon  it.  It  builds  cabins,  it  erects 
houses.  But  for  the  broadaxe,  Columbus 
could  not  have  found  the  pine  lands;  but 
for  the  broadaxe,  the  American  forests 
would  not  fall  to  make  way  for  the  people 
of  the  worn  out  world." 

"But  what  and  who  made  the  axe  ?"  asked 
Nancy. 

"The  furnace;  and  the  heart  of  the 
furnace  is  the  fire,  and  the  source  of  the 
fire  is  the  sun.  A  man  with  an  open  way 
and  the  broadaxe  may  build  for  his  children 
a  nobler  nation  than  those  whose  walls  the 
broadaxe  battered  down  in  the  past. ' ' 

Nancy  considered  such  thoughts  as  these 
very  wonderful.  To  her,  Thomas  became 
a  knight  of  the  broadaxe.  She  had  read  in 
her  school  book  of  the  knights  of  old,  and 


62          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

her  fancy  kindled  at  every  heroic  sugges- 
tion. 

The  Kentucky  wilderness  was  now  chang- 
ing rapidly.  It  was  everywhere  crossed  by 
adventurers,  by  many  worthy  people  seek- 
ing better  homes  for  their  families,  by  free 
hunters,  and  by  outlaws. 

Thomas  always  tried  to  gain  something  to 
add  to  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  from  all 
whom  he  chanced  to  meet.  Such,  among 
the  rest,  were  the  wandering  school  masters, 
some  of  whom  had  theories  to  propound,  and 
some  things  to  sell.  And  it  is  interesting  to 
know  something  about  these  strolling  teach- 
ers, who  had  a  little  more  education  than  the 
ordinary  people,  but  often  not  much  energy 
or  common  sense,  else  they  would  not  have 
been  contented  with  the  meagre  pittance 
they  received  for  teaching  school  when  they 
could  have  made  a  good  living  by  a  little 
manual  labor. 

One  of  the  friends  of  Thomas  was  a  wan- 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  SARAH  63 

dering  school  teacher  whose  name  may  be 
given  here  as  Tracy.  His  own  recommen- 
dations were  that  he  could  teach  the  three 
Rs  (.Reading,  '.Kiting,  and  'JSithmetic)  and 
"lick"  boys.  The  last  was  very  essential  in 
backwoods  schools.  But  in  those  days  it 
was  necessary  to  catch  boys  before  "lick- 
ing" them,  which  was  no  easy  thing  to  do, 
for  the  offender  would  leap  out  of  the  paper- 
covered  window,  with  a  whoop,  and  be  gone 
into  the  bushes  under  the  birds'  nests,  to  the 
astonishment  of  the  birds. 

This  man  Tracy  had  a  business  mind,  like 
a  modern  speculator. 

"You  see  this  rod,"  said  he  one  day  to 
Thomas.  "It  is  a  magic  rod.  It  bends 
down  towards  the  streams  under  ground.  I 
will  use  it  for  you  for  one  dollar." 

"But  I  don't  need  it.  There  is  water 
enough  for  us  and  our  team  above  ground." 

"But,  Linkern,  my  rod  can  find  gold.  It 
will  bend  down  above  a  streak  of  gold  in  the 


64          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

crumbling  rocks  under  the  ground.  It  will 
make  you  rich.  I  need  money  ;r  for  five  dol- 
lars I  will  part  with  the  rod — it  shall  be 
yours." 

"You  say  you  need  money.  Why  do  you 
not  find  gold  for  yourself,  good  man?" 

"Why,  I  am  not  as  much  of  a  philosopher 
as  Newton  was,  and  I  never  thought  of  that. 
But  let  me  sell  you  this  one,  and  I  will  get 
another  one.  I  know  how.  I  will  sell  you 
this  fortune-finder  for  five  dollars." 

"But  I  haven't  the  five  dollars." 

Young  Lincoln  liked  to  carry  such  anec- 
dotes as  these  to  the  Berrys  and  to  tell  them 
to  Mothey  Berry,  to  Nancy  and  to  Peidy,  as 
the  latter  lay  down  under  the  maples  very 
complacently  when  the  others  took  their 
places  on  the  log  steps  in  the  shadow  of  the 
cabin. 

But  the  one  question  that  waited  his  com- 
ing from  Nancy  was — 


THE  SEARCH  FOR  SARAH  65 

"Have  you  found  any  clue  to  the  wander- 
ings of  Sarah?" 

Thomas  would  ever  be  compelled  to  an- 
swer that  his  inquiries  had  been  in  vain,  but 
he  would  sometimes  in  turn  ask : 

"Have  you  heard  the  wolf-dog  cry 
again  ?" 


CHAPTER  VI 

WAYNE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

IT  was  rumored  in  the  towns  along  the 
Ohio  River  that  Wayne  was  organizing 
the  army  of  the  north-east,  and  the  cheering 
words  went  with  the  news  that  "  Where  goes 
Wayne  there  goes  victory." 

There  were  many  empty  places  in  the  cab- 
ins of  Kentucky.  The  Indians  had  at  last 
a  long  day  of  revenge,  and  their  delight  was 
to  carry  away  captives  and  to  make  slaves 
of  them. 

" Wayne  is  coming!"  A  horseman  cried 
out  the  words  as  he  flew  past  the  Berry 
cabin,  where  Mother  Berry  stood  in  the 
doorway.  She  tried  to  stop  him,  calling  out 
loudly,  but  he  seemed  to  come  and  go  with 

the  wind. 

67 


68          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

Wayne!  Would  he  pass  the  house? 
Mother  Berry  wondered.  She  ran  often  to 
the  door  during  her  work  to  see. 

"Spin  in  the  sight  of  the  door,  Nancy," 
she  said,  "and  see  if  there  be  any  upward 
flight  of  birds,  in  the  down  roadway.  The 
sky  will  grow  black  with  crows  if  he  pass 
the  pines." 

Nancy  spun  and  sang.  The  sky  was  se- 
rene. Afar  the  axeman  was  heard. 

Presently  the  far  sky  was  black  with 
cawing  crows. 

"Mother  Berry,  he  is  coming — something 
has  scared  the  crows.  Look,  look!" 

A  company  of  horsemen  came  breaking 
through  the  pines.  Among  them  was  a 
leader  in  such  fine  uniform  with  a  cockade 
that  Mother  Berry  felt  at  once  he  was  Gen- 
eral Wayne,  who  was  famous  for  his  fine 
military  dress. 

She  waved  her  hand  to  him. 

"Stop!  stop!"  she. cried,  "and  see  what  I 


WAYNE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  69 

have  got  in  store  for  you — I'll  be  a  mother 
to  you.11 

Gen.  Wayne  reined  in  his  horse. 

"Give  me  some  water  from  the  spring, 
madam,  and  so  speed  a  soldier  on  his  way." 

"Get  down,  get  down,"  said  Mother 
Berry,"  and  I  will  do  better  for  you  than 
that.  You  are  Gen.  Wayne,  I  can  see  that 
by  your  cockade ;  come  in  and  try  my  roast 
vension,  and  my  cake  all  speckled  with  ber- 
ries, and  my  cordials;  bring  your  men  into 
the  cabin.  I  can  provide  enough  for  all. " 

The  General  dismounted  and  entered 
courteously. 

"Be  seated  at  the  table,"  said  Mother 
Berry.  "'You  must  be  hungry,  after  your 
long  ride.  Let  your  men  fill  the  table.  But 
here,  I  must  set  out  the  empty  plate — that 
is  for  Sarah,  when  she  returns  from  captiv- 
ity." 

"Who  is  Sarah,  my  generous  friend?" 
said  the  General. 


70          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"She  was  carried  away  captive  by  the  In- 
dians. We  keep  an  empty  plate  at  the  table 
for  her.  You  are  going  to  rescue  her. 
There  are  many  Sarahs  whom  the  folks  are 
expecting  that  you  will  bring  home  again. 
You  fight  to  win;  let  the  Wilderness  re- 
joice!" 

"Madam,  if  this  arm  can  do  it,  and  it  can, 
I  will  bring  back  Sarah  to  this  hospitable 
table,  whoever  Sarah  may  be.  I  will  clear 
the  Wilderness  of  the  Redskins  that  rob  or 
murder  or  make  slaves  of  the  pioneers'  chil- 
dren. Won't  we,  gentlemen?" 

A  cheer  arose — "Vive  General  Wayne!" 

"Madam,  these  are  my  staff.  We  are 
riding  ahead.  The  army  is  moving  towards 
the  Ohio.  Listen!" 

There  was  a  beating  of  drums  as  of  a 
company  of  soldiers  in  the  distance. 

"Now,  gentlemen,  let  the  forks  fly,  and 
the  red  cordial  flow!" 

The  officers  ate  and  drank  merrily. 


WAYNE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  71 

"How  much,  madam,  shall  we  pay,  you 
for  this  timely  repast?" 

"How  much? — do  you  think  I  would  take 
money  for  that — when  you  are  going  to  res- 
cue Sarah?" 

The  General  arose. 

"Gentlemen,  Gallants, — look  at  this — " 
He  held  up  the  empty  plate. 

"This  empty  plate  waits  for  Sarah,  who 
has  been  carried  away  by  the  Redskins  into 
captivity.  Pledge  yourselves  to  this  good 
woman,  that  you  will  rescue  her  Sarah,  and 
all  other  Sarahs  from  the  Redskins." 

"I  pledge  it,  I  pledge  it — "  shouted  all. 

"Cheer  this  woman  with  the  great  heart 
as  you  go.  Cheer!  cheer!  and  then  leap 
upon  your  horses.  Cheer  for  wilderness 
hospitality!  for  Sarah!  for  Washington! 
for  the  American  army !  Cheer,  cheer,  and 
away,  away!" 

"Wait,  General,  and  be  silent,  all.     'Tis 


72          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

a  woman  who  commands  you,"  said  Aunt 
Berry. 

"Silence!"  said  the  General. 

"  You  must  take  with  you  the  empty  pew- 
ter plate.  Hang  it  on  the  flagstaff.  Look 
at  it,  in  peril,  in  the  long  march,  and  in  the 
thick  of  the  fight.  Let  it  stand  for  Sarah — 
for  all  the  Sarahs  who  hope  to  come  back 
from  captivity." 

"Tie  the  plate  to  the  flagstaff,"  said  the 
General.  "It  is  a  woman  who  commands 
us." 

The  plate  burnished  to  look  like  silver 
was  attached  to  the  flagstaff  and  rose  in  the 
air  like  a  Roman  eagle. 

"It  shall  come  back  again.  My  men, 
shall  it  not  return  again?" 

The  plate  was  given  to  the  color-bearer, 
who  swore  he  would  be  true  to  his  trust. 

"It  goes  away  for  the  freedom  of  the 
Wilderness,"  said  Wayne. 


WAYNE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  73 

"For  the  freedom  of  the  Wilderness," 
said  Mother  Berry. 

"Let    me    sing    a    song    to    Wayne," 

The  General  raised  his  hat. 

"Let  us  hear  the  little  bird  of  the  Wilder- 
ness sing,"  said  he. 

Nancy  stood  on  the  log  step  before  the 
door.  She  poured  forth  her  voice  in  an  old 
camp-meeting  refrain  which  was  really  an 
adaptation  of  an  old  Scotch  ballad  sung  by 
Nancy's  ancestors 'for  centuries,  ending  in 
the  refrain : 

"  'I  try  to  prove  faithful, 

I  try  to  prove  faithful, 

I  try  to  prove  faithful 

'Till  we  meet  to  part  no  more. '  ' r 

She  went  on  through  many  stanzas  'till 
all  ears  were  made  familiar  with  the  simple 
strain.  Wayne  stood  with  bowed  head. 
When  she  ceased,  he  threw  up  his  hat,  and 
said,  "Now,  all!" 


74           A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"We'll  try  to  prove  faithful,"  the  officers 
sang. 

Wayne  turned  to  Nancy. 

"If  I  return  this  way,  perhaps  you  will 
sing  to  me  again,"  said  he. 

Nancy  courtesied. 

"I  will  sing  you  that  song  in  regard  to 
the  '  Conquering  Hero, '  '  said  she. 

"May  that  day  come!"  said  Wayne. 

Cheer  after  cheer,  in  lusty  voices,  rose  in 
the  air.  Then  Wayne  leaped  upon  his  horse, 
and  the  others  as  quickly. 

Away,  away — they  vanished.  Wayne 
looked  back — Mother  Berry  waved  her 
apron. 

"I'll  remember  the  empty  plate,"  cried 
Wayne. 

He  was  gone.  The  gay  uniforms  van- 
ished. The  plate  gleamed  under  the  flag. 

Mother  Berry  sat  down  before  the  door 
and  cried. 

"Hell  bring  back  Sarah,"  said  she.    "I 


WAYNE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  « 

can  feel  it  in  my  bones — some  people  can 
feel  that  way.  This  has  been  a  day  to  live 
over  again,  some  days  linger  in  the  memory 
— this  is  one  of  them." 

How  had  Sarah  disappeared? 

Thomas  had  often  asked  this  qestion,  but 
Nancy  did  not  know  the  details,  and  Aunt 
Berry  had  only  promised  to  give  an  account 
of  it  at  some  infare  which  should  be  given, 
so  that  all  her  neighbors  might  learn  little 
Sarah's  story.  And  now,  to  the  delight  of 
Thomas,  such  an  occasion  was  at  hand. 

An  infare!  What  is  an  infare?  It  was 
what  would  be  called  to-day  a  "house- 
warming,"  usually  given  when  a  bride  was 
brought  home.  The  opening  of  the  door  of 
a  new  house  in  the  wilderness  was  no  com- 
mon event.  It  was  celebrated  by  a  day  of 
merriment  and  an  evening  of  jollity. 

The  new  house  whose  doors  were  to  be 
opened  by  this  jolly  infare  was  to  be  one  for 
the  entertainment  of  all.  The  "raising"  of 


76          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

the  frame  of  the  house  had  been  an  occasion 
for  merriment,  for  the  rude  roofs  and  chim- 
neys had  long  been  building. 

The  new  house  was  finished  in  the  clear- 
ing of  the  wilderness;  its  hospitable  door 
was  hung,  and  the  oiled  paper  windows  were 
placed,  as  beautiful  to  the  pioneers'  eyes  as 
those  of  the  rose  windows  of  Cologne 
Cathedral. 

The  inf are  was  always  hailed  as  a  festival 
of  progress.  Every  pioneer  rejoiced  at  the 
inauguration  of  a  new  home,  amid  abundant 
hospitality,  forest  fiddles,  and  rollicking 
songs,  and  pious  hymns.  Such  an  event 
was  a  signal  for  thanksgiving  and  merri- 
ment, and  was  hailed,  to  use  the  common 
term,  by  " all  the  country  'round." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  INFARE 

HENEVER,  circumstances  permitted, 
T  T  the  inf  are  was  made  the  occasion  of 
more  ceremonial  than  was  used  on  any  other 
social  occasion.  This  time  the  wedding  was 
to  take  place  in  the  new  home  instead  of  in 
that  of  the  bride.  A  prayer  was  to  be  of- 
fered up  for  the  army  of  General  Wayne. 
Then  were  to  follow  the  kindling  of  the  fire 
on  the  new  hearth,  the  prayer  of  the  dedica- 
tion of  the  house  to  family  life,  and  the  wed- 
ding. Then  merriment  was  to  follow. 

According  to  the  custom  of  making  a 
whole  day  of  it,  the  people  began  to  gather 
in  the  afternoon:  and  as  the  harvest  moon 
rose  over  the  wide  sea  of  dark  green  forests, 

the  house  had  filled  and  the  inf  are  began. 

77 


?8  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

Betty  Sparrow,  and  the  "Song  Sparrow," 
Nancy  Hanks,  sat  down  by  a  large  oak  table, 
near  which  the  first  fire  was  to  be  kindled. 
Nancy  had  brought  to  the  festival  table  the 
*  'waiting  plate,"  like  the  one  which  the  sol- 
diers of  Wayne  had  borne  away. 

The  guests  gathered  eagerly  around  the 
two  where  lay  the  "waiting  plate,"  and  an 
old  clergyman,  named  Mercer,  raised  his 
hand,  and  said  solemnly : 

"Silence,  my  good  friends,  all,  Mother 
Berry  is  about  to  speak.  She  will  make 
clear  to  us  how  much  we  will  have  to  be 
thankful  for  when  Wayne  shall  move  upon 
our  enemies  and  bring  peace  to  the  Wilder- 
ness. She  will  utter  with  the  voice  of  the 
Wilderness,  and  make  us  rejoice  that  the 
captive  children  shall  be  returned  again,  and 
that  the  Wilderness  itself  will  one  day  pass 
away.  God  speaks  to  us  by  the  waiting 
plate." 


THE  INFARE  79 

Aunt  Berry  turned  towards  the  clergy- 
man. 

"Elder  Mercer,  I  speak  of  little  Sarah  as 
my  own  daughter,  but  she  was  not  so  by 
birth.  Her  real  name  was  Mitchell,  and  I 
am  her  aunt;  but,  when  Nancy's  father  and 
mother  died,  I  used  to  look  out  of  my  cabin 
door  to  see  if  Nancy  were  not  coming  to  me 
through  the  trees,  and  at  last  she  came,  and 
she  is  now  a  child  of  my  heart.  So  it  shall 
by  with  Sarah  Mitchell — her  own  folks  are 
gone,  and  when  she  comes  back  from  cap- 
tivity, it  will  be  to  me. 

"I  take  children,  and  make  them  my  own. 
Nancy  Hanks  is  my  own,  and  Sarah  Mitch- 
ell, when  she  comes  back  from  captivity,  will 
be  my  own. 

"We  say  that  the  Redman  has  no  heart, 
but  a  mother  is  a  mother.  My  hope  for 
Sarah  is  in  an  Indian  mother's  heart. 

"  There  was  an  Indian  woman  that  wan- 
dered about  the  country,  whom  they  called 


80          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

'Old  Heth'  or  ' Moo-May'  or  'Moi-Mai.' 
She  was  not  old,  but  her  form  became  famil- 
iar, so  the  borderers  called  her  'old.'  She 
carried  a  little  girl  baby  about  with  her,  and 
seemed  to  have  a  strong  love  for  it.  She 
did  not  strap  it  to  her  back,  but  folded  it  to 
her  breast,  and  it  seemed  her  delight  to  look 
into  its  eyes.  She  called  it  after  an  Indian 
word  that  I  cannot  pronounce  now — mean- 
ing the  'Light  of  her  Eyes.' 

"The  little  girl  sickened  and  died.  After 
the  child's  death  Heth  or  Moo-May  wan- 
dered up  and  down  the  long  Indian  trails. 
"When  she  met  a  traveller  she  would  beat 
upon  her  breast  and  say — *It  is  empty,  gone, 
gone,  gone!  I  sleep  under  hay  stacks- 
trouble  dwells  in  houses,  and  cabins,  and  all. 
Gone,  gone,  gone !  My  bosom  dies.  Where 
has  vanished  the  Light  of  my  Eyes  ?  Why 
did  the  Mighty  One  give  me  the  Light  of  my 
Eyes?  Was  it  to  make  the  world  that  we 


THE  INFARE  81 

cannot  see  more  bright  to  me  than  the  sun- 
world?  Gone,  gone,  gone!' 

"I  can  even  seem  now  to  hear  her  wail. 
When  the  north  wind  came,  and  rattled  the 
leaves  in  the  autumn  trees,  she  would  cry 
out  as  to  the  sky.  "Whatever  your  feelings 
against  the  Indian  may  be,  Moo-May  was 
capable  of  noble  impulse  and  had  a  human 
heart.  In  that  heart  I  have  hope,  as  I  have 
said. 

'  The  Indian  war  came,  as  you  know.  The 
savages  swept  down  on  the  settlements, 
startling  the  air  with  their  merciless  war 
whoops,  and  vanishing  with  their  red  scalps 
lifted  on  poles  which  they  bore  through  the 
air. 

"I  was  young  then,  and  the  first  time  my 
heart  palpitated  with  fear  when  I  heard  the 
Shar-a-gar-gar  of  their  war  whoop. 

"One  day,  on  my  journey  to  Kentucky,  I 
was  out  in  the  berry  bushes,  and  my  little 
niece  Sarah,  whom  I  called  my  daughter, 


82          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

was  with  me.  The  war  whoop  sounded;  it 
seemed  to  come  from  the  rocks.  I  caught 
up  the  child,  and  fled  towards  a  shelter,  when 
the  savages  crossed  the  path.  Suddenly 
Moo-May  appeared.  She  said:  'Give  me 
the  child/  She  took  Sarah  from  me. 

"  'Shar-a-gar-gar!'  The  Indians  were 
upon  me.  I  was  stricken  down.  I.  recov- 
ered my  senses  slowly  and  rose  up  and 
looked  around.  Moo-May  was  seated  upon 
the  trunk  of  a  tree  that  had  fallen,  and  was 
covered  with  mosses  and  running  vines.  The 
Indians  were  gone,  and  Sarah  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen. 

"  '  Shar-a-gar-gar!'  Another  band  of 
Indians  came  whooping  down  with  red 
scalps  dangling  in  the  air.  I  fell  back,  pre- 
tending to  be  dead.  The  dreadful  warriors 
passed  by  like  a  hurricane.  I  rose  up  again. 
Moo-May  had  gone.  Where  was  Sarah? 
My  heart  has  been  asking  the  question  ever 
since  that  hour.  Had  Heth  been  treacher- 


THE  INFARE  83 

ous  to  me,  and  gone  with  the  whooping  sav- 
ages? 

" Sarah's  father  came  riding  up  on  horse- 
back. 

"  'Where  is   Sarah?'  he  asked,  almost 
breathlessly. 

"  'Gone!'  said  I, ' vanished.' 
"  'Did  the  Indians  carry  her  away?' 
"  'No,  Moo-May,  the  old  Indian,  had  her. 
I  gave  Sarah  to  her  to  hide.' 
"  'Where  is  Moo-May?' 
"  'I  do  not  know — vanished.' 
"  'I  will  ride  after  the  Indians.' 
"He  attempted  to  cross  a  stream. 
' '  Crack !    It  was  an  Indian  rifle.    Sarah 's 
father  fell  into  the  stream,   and  drifted 
away. 

"Where  is  Sarah?    Ask  the  forest,  the 

winds,  the  streams.    Ask  Moo-May.     Ask 

the  heart  of  a  mother.    Moo-May  had  been 

a  mother. 

"There  is  her  waiting  plate.    I  have  set 


84          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

it  down  amid  the  plates  of  others.  If  Sarah 
be  living,  the  hope  to  find  her  lies  in  the  In- 
dian mother's  heart  and  in  Wayne.  I  think 
that  Moo-May  hid  her  behind  the  log  till  the 
Indians  passed  by,  then  fled  with  her. 

"That  awful  scene  was  five  years  ago — 
when  Sarah  disappeared  in  the  storm  of 
warwhoops.  I  have  never  seen  Moo-May 
since.  Did  she  give  Sarah  up  to  the  sav- 
ages, or  hide  her  and  protect  her  ?  I  do  not 
know.  The  plate  waits.  But  the  mother 
that  was  in  that  Indian's  heart,  who  herself 
had  lost  a  child,  makes  me  hope  for  the  re- 
turn of  Sarah  from  captivity." 

She  held  up  the  waiting  plate  and  called 
out  " Sarah!  Sarah!"  There  was  a  deep 
silence,  when  her  lips  trembled  and  she  said : 

" Nancy,  you  may  sing  now." 

Nancy,  timid  and  beautiful,  stood  up,  her 
eyes  full  of  sympathy,  her  braided  hair  fall- 
ing down  her  back. 

Her  voice  rippled  out  like  a  song-bird  that 


THE  INFARE  85 

had  been  bereft  of  its  nest.  She  sang  first 
the  ballad  of  Lord  Lovell,  which  her  ances- 
tors had  sung  for  hundreds  of  years,  and 
which  is  still  sung  in  the  mountains.  Then, 
when  they  wanted  more,  she  sang  "Barbara 
Allen,"  and  finally  the  "Nut-Brown  Maid." 

The  table  had  been  set  bountifully.  On 
the  new  board  was  a  barbacued  sheep,  bear 
meat,  venison,  wild  turkey  and  ducks,  maple 
sugar  served  in  gourds,  honey,  fruits  and 
delicious  drinks. 

The  house  was  not  completed  on  the  in- 
side, and  there  was  no  stairway.  The  men 
went  up  to  the  garret  room  on  pegs,  and 
there  slept  at  night  on  beds  or  bunks  of 
leaves  or  straw. 

Thomas,  who  lived  at  a  distance,  stayed 
over-night  at  the  house.  As  he  was  ascend- 
ing the  pegs,  a  strange  sound  caught  his 
ears.  It  was  the  cry  of  a  dog.  He  stopped 
on  the  pegs,  swung  himself  out,  and  said : 

"Instinct  is  better  than  reason.    I  some- 


how  feel  that  cry  has  some  connection  with 
Sarah. " 

"Sarah!"  cried  Nancy.  " Sarah!  Do 
you  think  the  Indian  woman  that  carried 
her  away  is  near?" 

The  cry  came  again.  Thomas  shook  one 
hand,  holding  by  the  other  to  the  peg: 
"Listen!" 

"Cry-cry-ee-ei!"  It  was  a  sharp,  pitiful 
sound.  Again  and  again  it  rang,  outhaunt- 
ing  the  night. 

"If  I  knew  how  to  do  it,  I  would  give  that 
dog  some  of  the  barbacue,"  said  the  feeling 
Nancy. 

Thomas  swung  himself  up  the  pegs  into 
the  loft,  and  said: 

"Goodnight,  women  folks." 

The  women  who  were  to  remain  over 
night  with  the  family  sat  down  to  wonder 
over  what  Thomas  had  said  about  the  dog. 
"Was  the  lost  Sarah  with  the  Indian  woman 


THE  INFARE  87 

still,  and  was  the  dog  that  made  this  pecul- 
iar sound  with  them  both? 

Nancy  lay  down  at  midnight  to  dream  of 
Sarah.  Could  she  but  find  her,  she  would 
have  a  sister,  and  what  stories  of  the  wilder- 
ness the  captive  might  tell.  From  that  night 
her  mind  followed  as  in  a  vision  the  sugges- 
tion that  Thomas  had  made. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  WOLF-DOG 

tt/^RY-OO-OO-OI!" 

Vy  ''There  is  that  wolf-dog  again," 
said  Mother  Berry,  a  few  days  later. 
"  There  he  is,  see,  looking  out  of  the  thorn 
bushes  as  if  he  were  expecting  me  to  call 
him.  Here,  doggie,  here!" 

She  stood  in  the  door  and  waved  her  apron 
in  friendly  fashion. 

The  wolf-dog  came  out  of  the  thorn  bushes 
and  at  first  moved  towards  her  cautiously, 
but  his  fears  gained  the  mastery  over  his 
inclinations  and  he  moved  back  into  the 
bushes.  Did  some  one  call  him  back  ?  Had 
he  a  master  or  a  mistress  there?  If  so, 
who? 

"I  declare,  I  always  feel  as  though  there 

89 


90          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

was  either  some  good  or  some  evil  eye  watch- 
ing me  out  of  my  sight  when  that  sound 
falls  upon  my  ear.  That  dog  is  owned  by 
some  one  who  is  invisible — at  least  invisible 
to  me.  I  think  whoever  owns  him  feels 
kindly  toward  me,  and  that's  what  makes 
the  dog  act  so  friendly.  The  folks  we  do 
not  see  make  atmospheres  for  us.  We  feel 
the  friendliness  of  friends  even  when  they 
do  not  speak  to  us.  I  am  going  to  put  a 
fresh  locker  on  the  hitching  post,  and  call 
out,  'Here,  doggie,  here!' 

She  brought  a  haunch  of  venison  out  of 
the  log  cabin  and  set  it  up  on  the  hitching 
post  and  called  again  and  again  in  such  a 
friendly  tone  that  it  set  the  call  birds  to 
answering  and  inquiring.  The  blue  jays 
came  out  of  the  sunny  woods  and  lit  about 
the  place  on  the  clumps  of  bushes. 

Presently  the  wolf-dog  came  boldly  out  of 
the  bushes,  seeming  to  feel  that  there  was 
no  treachery  in  the  voice  that  called  him. 


THE  WOLF-DOG  91 

He  approached  the  hitching  post,  seized  the 
fat  haunch  of  the  deer,  unhitched  it  from  the 
nail,  and  bore  it  away  to  the  cover  of  the 
thorn  bushes. 

"S-S'sh,  S-S'sh,"  said  Mother  Berry,  "I 
am  going  to  follow  him  I" 

She  did,  but  when  she  came  to  the  thorn 
patch  she  found  the  venison  upon  the 
ground.  The  dog  had  vanished.  No  one 
was  to  be  seen,  but  some  one  had  been  there, 
for  here  was  an  open  place  among  the  thorn 
bushes,  and  the  leaves  were  gathered  to- 
gether in  a  sheltered  place.  Some  one  had 
made  a  bed  there  and  had  watched  the  house 
from  it.  Was  the  eye  an  Indian's?  Was 
it  that  of  a  man  or  a  woman?  Was  it  an 
evil  eye  or  a  friendly  one? 

Mother  Berry  asked  one  more  question 
which  many  settlers  would  have  asked,  but 
of  which  no  one  would  think  to-day :  Was 
the  eye  a  witch's,  or  of  some  spirit  of  goo'd? 

She  believed  that  it  was  the  eye  of  grati- 


92  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

tude  watching  her  with  good  will  and  that 
the  strange  wolf-dog  followed  that  good  will- 
ing eye.  Such  notions  were  common  in  the 
Wilderness,  which  was  in  fact  full  of  re- 
vengeful eyes  which  lurked  in  thickets  to 
do  evil.  But  there  was  some  satisfaction  in 
knowing  that  an  Indian,  if  once  a  friend, 
was  always  a  friend. 

Mother  Berry  had  always  treated  Indians 
well,  although  there  was  no  particular  In- 
dian to  whom  she  had  attached  herself.  That 
fact  made  the  matter  more  mysterious;  to 
be  followed  by  a  friendly  wolf-dog,  with  a 
master  or  mistress  unseen,  now  became  the 
mystery  of  her  life.  Many  people  have  a 
personality  that  they  do  not  recognize  them- 
selves, and  Mother  Berry  had  a  good  heart 
that  others  saw,  but  which  was  not  recog- 
nized by  herself.  A  good  heart  is  an  un- 
conscious influence.  Mother  Berry,  "who 
took  to  children, "  carried  an  atmosphere 
about  her  whose  influence  was  indirect,  but 


THE  WOLF-DOG  93 

produced  a  spark  of  the  sunlight  that  shines 
for  all.  Does  the  sun  see  himself  shine  ? 

A  few  minutes  later  Thomas  Lincoln  ar- 
rived, and  when  Aunt  Berry  gave  her  idea 
that  there  was  a  good  Indian  watching  over 
them,  he  would  have  none  of  it.  When 
Nancy  insisted  that  it  might  be  so,  Thomas 
told  them  the  story  of  his  father's  death  as 
his  reason  for  hating  all  Indians.  Nancy 
was  eager  to  hear  the  details  of  the  story,  of 
which  she  had  known  only  the  main  facts. 

"I  was  seven  years  old,"  said  Thomas, 
"when  my  father  went  with  his  three  sons  to 
fell  some  timber  and  make  our  clearing 
larger.  He  and  I  were  with  the  oxen  at  one 
edge  of  the  woods,  while  my  brothers,  Mor- 
decai  and  Josiah,  were  grubbing  a  stump 
some  distance  away.  The  log  house  was  in 
the  center  of  the  clearing,  and  we  were 
anxious  to  get  many  trees  cut  down  so  that 
no  Indian  could  hide  in  the  woods  and  shoot 
a  person  in  the  doorway.  Also  we  wanted 


94  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

to  be  out  of  reach  of  the  arrows  which  the 
Indians  could  shoot  for  long  distances. 
Sometimes  they  would  put  lighted  punk  on 
their  arrows  and  shoot  them  onto  the  roofs 
in  the  hope  of  setting  the  cabin  afire. 

"We  had  been  at  work  some  time,  and 
father  had  felled  a  large  tree,  trimmed  the 
branches,  and  cut  the  trunk  into  three  logs. 
The  oxen  were  just  hitched  to  one  log  and 
father  was  punching  the  off  steer  with  his 
goad  when  I  heard  the  crack  of  a  rifle,  and 
father  fell  over  at  my  feet. 

"Small  as  I  was,  I  at  once  knew  that  an 
Indian  had  shot  him,  and  I  set  up  a  cry. 
My  brothers  were  about  twenty  rods  away, 
but  they  at  once  knew  what  was  the  trouble. 

"  'Run  to  the  stockade  for  help,'  said 
Mordecai  to  Josiah,  who  immediately  dis- 
appeared in  that  direction,  while  Mordecai 
got  to  the  house  as  quick  as  he  could. 

"For  some  reason  on  that  day  no  one  had 


THE  WOLF-DOG  95 

taken  a  rifle,  but  even  if  they  had  it  would 
have  been  madness  to  stay  in  the  clearing. 

"When  my  father  fell  he  knocked  me  over 
and  I  was  so  scared  that  I  lay  still.  He 
made  not  a  single  sound.  The  rifle  ball  hit 
him  over  the  heart,  and  his  warm  blood 
trickled  all  over  me. 

"I  was  almost  beside  myself  with  fear, 
but  I  knew  that  it  was  dangerous  to  move. 
Finally  I  managed  to  get  my  head  up  and, 
looking  around,  could  see  no  one.  Then  I 
got  up,  thinking  I  would  run  for  the  house. 
At  that  moment  an  Indian  in  full  war  paint 
came  out  of  the  woods  not  twenty  feet  from 
me. 

"I  knew  at  once  that  he  intended  to  scalp 
my  father  and  carry  me  away  as  prisoner. 
He  had  evidently  reloaded  his  rifle,  but  car- 
ried it  by  his  side  and  made  no  effort  to 
shoot  me.  There  were  many  stumps  in  the 
clearing,  and  I  thought  maybe  I  could  run 


96          A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

zig-zag,  hiding  behind  one  after  another, 
and  thus  get  to  the  cabin. 

"As  I  turned  to  run  I  saw  Mordecai's 
rifle  pointing  out  of  the  loop-hope  near  the 
door.  I  was  directly  between  him  and  the 
Indian,  and  if  he  fired,  I  would  be  killed. 
On  this  I  fell  flat  on  my  face  but  the  Indian 
picked  me  up  and  carried  me  to  where  my 
father  lay.  Mordecai's  aim  was  sure. 
Though  he  took  the  chance  of  killing  me,  he 
fired  and  the  Indian  fell  dead  across  the 
body  of  my  father.  I  was  unhurt. 

"I  was  now  more  scared  than  ever.  What 
if  the  woods  were  full  of  Indians  ?  I  man- 
aged to  crawl  on  my  stomach  behind  some 
limbs  from  the  tree  we  had  just  felled,  and 
waited  to  see  what  would  happen. 

"Soon  another  Indian  appeared  in  the 
woods  looking  anxiously  from  behind  a 
beech  tree.  Mordecai  must  have  seen  him, 
for  he  fired,  but  did  not  touch  the  Indian, 
who  jumped  behind  the  tree  again.  From 


THE  WOLF-DOG  97 

time  to  time  some  five  Indians  were  seen  in 
different  parts  of  the  woods,  but  none  came 
out  into  view,  for  Mordecai  fired  whenever 
he  got  sight  of  one,  though  he  hit  none  of 
them.  I  think  they  wanted  to  get  the  dead 
body  of  their  comrade,  and  might  have  at 
last  done  so  by  sneaking  along  the  ground, 
when  a  shout  came  from  the  other  side  of 
the  clearing,  and  Josiah  appeared  with  a 
number  of  our  neighbors. 

"They  did  not  come  to  where  I  lay  at  first, 
but,  in  Indian  fashion,  spread  out  to  en- 
circle the  clearing.  They  jumped  from  tree 
to  tree,  making  in  the  directions  called  out 
by  Mordecai  from  the  cabin,  but  they  were 
not  attacked.  Evidently  the  Indians  were 
in  no  mood  for  a  fight,  and  they  disappeared. 
The  men  followed  them  for  hours,  but  they 
had  made  good  their  escape  toward  the 
Ohio. 

"I  reckon  I  lay  there  altogether  an  hour 
before  help  came,  but  it  seemed  to  me  an 


98  A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

eternity.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
my  heart  had  stopped  beating.  Once  I  put 
my  hand  there  to  feel,  and  it  was  covered 
with  the  wet  blood  which  had  soaked  my 
shirt.  When  I  looked  at  that  red  hand, 
anger  filled  me  until  I  thought  I  should 
burst.  My  heart  now  throbbed  as  if  it 
would  break  my  ribs.  When  Mordecai 
found  me  my  teeth  were  set  so  I  could  not 
open  them  for  a  long  time.  And  then  and 
there  I  swore  vengence  for  my  father's 
bloOd.  I  was  not  old  enough  to  fire  a  gun, 
but  from  that  moment  it  was  my  ambition  to 
kill  an  Indian. 

"I  never  have  killed  one  yet,  for  Mordecai 
shot  at  all  who  came  in  sight,  and  though  he 
has  dropped  many  of  them,  I  will  not  be 
avenged  until  I  wash  with  Indian  blood  the 
hand  that  was  stained  with  father's." 

Thomas  had  grown  excited  while  talking, 
and  as  he  closed  his  story,  he  stood  up,  looked 


THE  WOLF-DOG  99 

for  a  moment  at  the  forest,  and  disappeared 
toward  home  without  a  word  of  farewell. 

"Let  us  hope,"  said  Mother  Berry,  "that 
General  Wayne  will  kill  all  the  Indians  nec- 
essary so  that  Thomas  need  not  have  to  get 
vengeance  on  his  own  account." 

"Yes,'"  replied  Nancy,  "I  don't  blame 
Thomas  for  his  feelings,  but  I  do  hope  he 
won't  kill  anyone,  if  not  in  self-defense.  He 
is  too  good  a  boy  for  that." 

Then  she  went  on  spinning.  She  did  not 
sing,  but  listened  once  more  for  the  wolf- 
dog's  cry,  and  listened  all  in  vain. 


CHAPTER  IX 

INQUIRING  FOR  SARAH 

ABOUT  a  month  later  a  traveling  back- 
woodsman came  to  the  house,  with  an 
exciting  story.  He  had  seen  an  old  Indian 
woman  and  a  little  girl  in  a  green  thicket. 

"Ah,"  said  he,  "but  it  was  no  common 
face  that  she  had,  that  black  squaw.  Her 
eyes  looked  at  you  so  queer — and  there  was 
something  secret  in  them.  The  little  girl 
had  blue  eyes,  and  when  you  spoke  to  her  she 
turned  her  face  to  the  black  squaw's  breast. 
The  crows  flew  around  them  cawing,  and 
the  squirrels  peeked  at  them  from  the 
trees." 

Nancy  at  once  became  greatly  excited,  and 

called  her  aunt  to  hear  the  rest  of  the  story. 

101 


102 

Mrs.  Berry  came  running,  throwing  her 
apron  over  her  head  for  a  hood. 

" Where  was  it?"  she  cried. 

"Oh  miles  away — I  could  hardly  find  the 
place  again.  It  was  not  far  from  the  Salt 
Licks." 

"Did  you  leave  her  where  you  found 
her?" 

"Who— the  little  girl?" 

"Yes,  yes.  I  couldn't  take  her  if  I  had 
wanted  to;  besides  I  didn't  know  to  whom 
she  belonged.  I  didn't  even  know  you  had 
lost  a  little  girl." 

Mr.  Berry  now  came  hurrying  at  his 
wife's  call. 

"What  became  of  the  little  girl?"  asked 
he. 

"Well,  stranger,  it  was  this  way;  believe 
it  or  not;  that  don't  matter  to  me.  I  found 
the  girl  and  the  black  squaw  together,  and  I 
said  to  myself  that  this  was  a  stolen  child, 
that  somewhere  a  mother  had  empty  arms. 


INQUIRING  FOR  SARAH  103 

So  I  said  to  the  squaw — 'That  is  a  stolen 
white  child. ' 

"  'Who  told?' said  she. 

"'  It  tells  itself,  'said  I. 

"  'No,  no,'  said  she.  'I  took  child  to  save. 
I  lost  mine ;  no  one  likes  empty  heart.  She 
good  child,  she  love  me.' 

"She  sat  there  stolid.  A  wild  partridge 
came  near  in  the  silence,  and  fluttered  across 
the  way.  It  was  a  still  place,  and  the  old 
squaw  sat  silent.  She  seemed  waiting  for 
something. 

"Presently  the  little  white  girl  started  up 
as  though  her  quick  ears  had  caught  a  sound. 
She  seemed  about  to  speak,  when  the  squaw 
waved  her  hand,  before  her  mouth. 

"'Ihear— ' 

"The  squaw  waved  her  hand  again,  and 
drew  the  white  child  down  beside  her. 

"  'Hark!'  said  the  girl. 

"The  squaw  touched  her  lips.    What  did 


104        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

it  mean?  Were  Indians  coming?  I  could 
hear  nothing. 

"But  the  white  child  sat  as  if  listening. 

"Then  I  thought  that  I  heard  a  sound  in 
the  distance. 

"  ' Stranger,'  at  last  she  said,  turning  her 
black  eyes  to  mine,  'here  is  a  wild  gourd 
shell.  Go  down  hill ;  fill  it  with  water  from 
spring  and  don't  get  kill  by  cattle  running 
to  cow  licks. ' 

"I  took  the  gourd  and  went  down  the 
trail,  which  was  trodden  hard  by  the  feet  of 
an  hundred  cattle.  I  found  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill  a  tract  of  thick  bushes,  and  followed 
the  cattle  tracks  to  a  flowing  spring.  Near 
it  was  a  salt  lick. 

"As  I  came  to  the  place,  I  heard  as  it  were 
a  thunder  of  hoofs.  Cattle  run  and  plunge 
when  they  begin  to  smell  a  salt  lick.  I  saw 
a  great  herd  coming  down  a  bank,  dark  as  a 
cloud,  with  plunging  heads,  and  uplifted 
tails.  I  stepped  into  a  cluster  of  trees  to 


INQUIRING  TOR  SARAH  105 

avoid  them.  They  stopped  to  drink  at  the 
spring,  and  then  rushed  on  to  the  cow  licks. 

"I  found  it  hard  to  find  pure,  clear  water, 
but  I  did  so  at  last  and  filled  the  gourd,  and 
returned  with  it  to  the  log  where  the  child 
and  squaw  had  been.  The  log  was  there, 
but  the  squaw  and  the  little  girl  had  van- 
ished. 

"I  inquired  at  a  road  house  about  the 
squaw  and  the  white  child. 

"  'I  don't  know,'  said  the  tavern  keeper, 
'you  can  never  tell;  she  appears  often  and 
then  she  is  gone.  They  say  that  she  loves 
the  white  child.  Love?  I  would  think  as 
much  of  a  leather  woman  having  a  heart  like 
that.  It  is  a  mystery.'  And  that  is  all  I 
know,  or  can  tell  about  the  black  squaw  and 
the  little  white  girl.  What  do  you  know 
about  them1?" 

An  exciting  talk  followed.  The  Berrys 
'gave  the  man  a  supper  and  a  wild-grass  bed, 


106         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

and  he  went  away  in  the  morning  towards 
the  "far  woods  of  the  Indiana  country." 

Nancy  arose  early  the  next  morning.  She 
had  not  slept.  She  stood  on  the  doorstep  for 
a  while,  shaking  her  sunbonnet,  and  patting 
Peidy. 

"I  am  going  away  a  while,"  said  she  to 
Aunt  Berry. 

But  she  did  not  go  alone. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  CATHEDRAL  UNDER  THE  TREES 

THE  Berrys  were  about  the  door  soon 
after  sunrise,  preparing  to  go  to  the 
great  yearly  camp-meeting.  They  were  wait- 
ing only  for  Thomas,  and  Nancy  was  fearful 
that  he  might  not  come.  But  he  did  come, 
and  was  eagerly  welcomed  by  her. 

"You  have  been  promising  to  go  in  search 
of  Sarah  for  a  long  time.  Now  let  me  see 
whether  you  can  find  her.  But,  mind,  she 
may  be  in  the  care  of  a  good  Indian,  so  don't 
shoot  unless  attacked. 

"Well,"  replied  Thomas,  "I  hope  to  find 

\ 

her,  and  at  least  we  can  have  a  good  time.  I 
am  always  better  after  a  camp-meeting, 
though  I'm  not  sure  that  I  wouldn't  shut 
out  the  daylight  from  an  Indian  yet.  Sup- 

107 


108         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

pose  I  were  to  find  a  squaw  holding  Sarah 
in  charge  and  that  she  were  trying  to  make 
into  hiding,  or  would  not  give  her  up?  I 
wouldn't  be  responsible  for  what  I  would 
do.  I  would  remember  that  day  when  a 
merciless  red  man  shot  my  father." 

At  once  they  set  out  for  the  great  camp- 
meeting  grounds,  and  found  plenty  of  com- 
pany. All  the  people  who  could  possibly  do 
so  were  on  the  way. 

Some  rode  in  wagons  and  some  were  on 
horseback,  with  baskets  of  food  on  their 
pack  saddles.  The  Berrys  and  Sparrows, 
and  the  Hankses  made  a  sort  of  family 
party,  and  they  had  a  merry  time  of  it.  The 
weather  was  fine  and  the  woods  never  looked 
more  beautiful. 

They  passed  great  ponds  full  of  geese,  and 
saltlicks  where  deer  were  stalking.  Wood 
fowl  with  half  grown  broods  were  every- 
where. The  sky  was  purple  and  cloudless, 
and  all  the  air  was  like  a  sun-plain. 


Many  Indian  squaws  liked  to  visit  camp- 
meetings,  and  find  shelter  on  the  borders  of 
the  camp  grounds,  where  they  often  sold 
baskets  and  ornaments.  These  were  harm- 
less old  creatures  whose  husbands  were  dead 
and  who  never  molested  the  whites,  but  often 
gave  them  valuable  information.  Nancy 
hoped  by  inquiring  of  all  of  these  that  she 
might  be  able  to  find  some  trace  of  the  squaw 
who  had  the  white  child.  All  the  squaws 
she  knew  were  fond  of  her,  and  she  hoped 
to  get  into  the  good  graces  of  the  rest.  As  a 
rule,  the  Indians  are  very  secretive,  and  they 
do  not  like  to  talk  about  themselves,  and  so 
Nancy  made  up  her  mind  to  be  very  cautious 
in  her  questions  so  as  not  to  arouse  sus- 
picion. 

Camp-meetings  under  the  influence  of 
Bishop  Asbury,  and  later  under  the  eccentric 
Peter  Cartwright,  who  was  now  a  boy  in  this 
neighborhood,  began  to  be  great  centers  of 
resort  in  the  beautiful  groves  of  the  mighty 


110         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

empire  stretching  from  the  Great  Lakes  to 
the  Mississippi.  This  movement  under 
Peter  Cartwright,  "the  Kentucky  boy," 
spread  rapidly.  By  some  it  was  called  the 
"Cumberland  movement/'  by  others  "The 
New  Light  Stir,"  as  in  New  England  in  the 
times  of  Jesse  Lee. 

The  purpose  of  these  great  meetings  of  the 
pioneers  and  borderers  in  the  ancient  groves 
was  to  "get  shouting  happy,"  after  the 
views  of  some  of  the  singular  leaders.  One 
of  these  famous  "elders,"  as  they  were 
known,  often  became  "shouting  happy," 
and  reached  a  state  of  ecstasy  that  was  some- 
times out  of  his  normal  senses.  His  idea  of 
heaven  was  that  it  would  be  a  great  camp- 
meeting  of  "shouting  happy  people"  under 
some  Cumberland  valley  groves,  or  amid 
farm  gardens  like  those  of  the  sunny  and 
glorious  Shenandoah.  And  here  let  me  say 
that  while  I  am  not  a  Methodist,  I  have  no 
disposition  to  criticize  the  old  camp-meet- 


THE  CATHEDRAL  UNDER  THE  TREES     111 

ing,  although  it  represented  largely  what  we 
to-day  call  the  " emotional"  in  religion. 
The  camp-meeting  of  the  Middle  West 
brought  forth  harvests  of  good;  it  gave  to 
the  atmosphere  the  view  that  the  great  phi- 
losopher Kant  gave  to  Germany,  that "  spirit 
is  the  only  reality, ' '  —that  to  have  the  right 
spiritual  gravitation  is  everything,  and 
"all  else  is  dust."  It  was  a  school  of  life. 

This  great  camp-meeting  in  southern 
Kentucky,  in  the  year  before  the  treaty  of 
peace  of  Greenville,  was  notable  because  it 
was  conducted  by  Bishop  Asbury.  He  was 
a  great  believer  in  the  value  of  music  in  re- 
ligion, and  always  led  the  audience.  One 
of  his  favorites  was : 

"How  happy,  gracious  Lord,  are  we, 
Divinely  drawn  to  follow  thee, 

Whose  days  divided  are, 
Between  the  mount  and  multitude. 
Our  days  are  spent  in  doing  good, 

Our  nights  in  praise  and  prayer. 


112         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"The  winter's  night,  the  summer  day, 
Glide  peacefully  away, 

Too  short  to  sing  thy  praise. 
Too  few  we  find  the  happy  hours, 
And  haste  to  join  the  heavenly  powers, 

In  everlasting  praise. ' ' 

Nancy  always  enjoyed  camp-meetings,  not 
only  because  she  was  by  nature  spiritual,  but 
because  she  learned  some  new  hymns  each 
year,  and  people  would  come  miles  to  hear 
her  sing  them  in  the  rude  log  churches  near 
her  home. 

Thomas  Lincoln  was  inclined  to  be  a 
"Free  Will  Baptist,"  but  attended  the 
camp-meetings  and  went  to  any  "preach- 
ing" in  the  neighborhood.  The  camp-meet- 
ings were  scarcely  denominational.  They 

• 

were  social  as  well  as  religious  gatherings. 
The  people  came  to  them  in  wagons,  on 
horseback,  and  on  foot,  often  from  cabins  a 
hundred  or  more  miles  away,  and  camped 


THE  CATHEDRAL  UNDER  THE  TREES     113 

near  the  grove  where  the  meetings  were 
held. 

They  made  great  fires  from  the  dry  wood 
for  cooking,  set  up  forked  sticks  and  a  green 
pole  across,  and  hung  kettles  on  the  pole. 
In  these  they  heated  water  and  made  por- 
ridge, soups,  and  succotash,  while  they 
roasted  venison  on  a  spit.  They  came  ac- 
companied by  dogs,  and  it  was  difficult  to 
keep  the  dogs  from  stealing  the  deer  meat, 
of  which  they  are  passionately  fond. 

While  the  crowd  was  singing  and  shout- 
ing, and  all  eyes  were  directed  towards  the 
grand  stand,  the  sly  dogs  would  seize  the 
venison  and  drag  it  away  with  ki,  hies,  and 
burned  tongues.  As  it  cooled  they  would 
drag  it  farther  and  farther  away,  to  the 
spring,  when  the  "tent  masters"  would  come 
running  after  them,  with  temptations  to  say 
improper  words,  and  crying: 

"The  dogs  have  got  the  meat.  Stop  them, 
stop  them!" 


114         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

The  Wilderness,  like  that  the  Israelites 
trod,  abounded  with  quail  as  if  sent  from 
heaven. 

The  people  slept  in  tents,  or  on  green  pine 
boughs  in  fair  weather.  They  were  broth- 
erly and  happy.  They  called  each  other 
" brothers"  and  the  memory  of  these  green- 
wood assemblies  would  often  make  the  heart 
of  the  lonely  pioneer  happy  for  a  year. 

Sometimes  the  men  were  on  guard  against 
the  Indians,  but  this  year  there  were  none 
in  the  region.  They  were  far  to  the  north- 
west, preparing  for  a  final  conflict  with  the 
troops  of  Wayne.  The  land  that  had  been 
full  of  crimes  committed  by  the  Indians 
was  waiting  now  for  a  terrible  struggle. 

One  evening,  as  all  were  resting  near  the 
great  camp-meeting  grove,  Nancy  was 
startled  by  the  cry  of  a  panther. 

"Oh,  Thomas,"  said  she,  "I  have  heard 
that  cry  before,  in  the  Wilderness  Road. ' ' 

When  Nancy  had  passed  over  the  "Wil- 


THE  CATHEDRAL  UNDER  THE  TREES     115 

derness  Road,"  from  Virginia  to  Kentucky, 
it  was  full  of  the  terrors  of  wild  beasts  and 
hostile  Indians. 

The  dangers  from  animals  had  become 
less.  Now  and  then  a  panther,  with  the  in- 
clination to  leap  from  the  trees  and  break 
the  neck  of  its  victim,  might  imperil  the 
way,  but  there  were  few.  Bears  still  came 
near  the  settlements,  but  they  did  not  attack 
anyone  unless  they  themselves  were  at- 
tacked. Nancy  was  not  afraid  of  them  at 
aU. 

"  Thomas,  look  a-yonder!"  cried  Nancy. 

Thomas  looked. 

A  she-bear  with  her  little  cubs  had  come 
from  the  woods  towards  the  wagon. 

"Oh,  how  cunning!"  exclaimed  Nancy. 

Thomas  stopped  and  raised  his  gun. 

"Don't  do  that,"  said  Nancy. 

"Why,  little  woman?" 

"The  cubs  are  so  cunning." 

The  she-bear  stopped  in  the  way.    She 


116        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

had  probably  come  out  of  her  cave  hunting 
berries. 

As  Thomas  lifted  his  gun,  she  rose  up  on 
her  haunches,  and  raised  her  paws  like  two 
hands,  in  wonder. 

She  probably  had  never  seen  a  gun,  and 
seemed  by  her  attitude  to  say:  "You  are 
not  going  to  harm  me  and  my  family,  are 
you?" 

"Don't  fire,"  said  Nancy,  "the  cubs  are  so 
young.  I  have  a  great  respect  for  the  rights 
of  young  children." 

"But  cubs  are  not  children.  It  is  the 
purpose  of  all  pioneers  to  rid  the  country  of 
varmints;  I  must  fire,  Nancy.  It  is  my 
duty ;  we  must  wage  a  sharp  warfare  against 
barbarism,  like  Wayne." 

He  held  the  gun.  The  bear  once  more 
stood  up  like  a  woman. 

"Don't  shoot  the  Indian  squaw,"  said 
Nancy.  "The  bear  trusts  us,  has  faith  in 
us.  We  don't  shoot  Indians  that  have  faith 


THE  CATHEDRAL  UNDER  THE  TREES      117 

in  us.  I  would  never  harm  anything  that 
believed  in  me." 

The  gun  wobbled. 

Suddenly  the  bear  dropped  down  on  her 
fore  feet  and  skeeted  into  the  berry  bushes, 
with  her  two  cubs  after  her. 

"You  did  that,  Nancy,  with  your  foolish 
heart." 

"What,  Thomas?" 

"Let  the  bear  go." 

"But  she  will  never  harm  anyone." 

"Her  cubs  may.  A  bear  is  a  bear.  Oh, 
Nancy,  you  were  never  born  for  the  wife  of 
a  pioneer.  You  were  born  to  spin  flax  in 
the  merry  cabins  and  win  the  heart  of  every- 
body." 

They  did  not  hear  the  panther  again,  and 
were  just  going  to  sleep  when  once  more  a 
sound  was  heard.  This  time  it  was  the  same 
wolf-dog  cry  they  had  so  often  heard. 

"Cry-oo-oo-oi!" 


118         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

Aunt  Berry  leaped  to  her  feet,  and  flung 
out  her  hands. 

"That  is  the  same  cry  that  we  have  heard 
before.  That  cry  has  circled  around'  our 
house  at  a  distance  for  some  years.  It 
^haunts  the  air.  That  wolf-dog  has  followed 
us  all  this  distance,  and  I  am  more  convinced 
than  ever  that  it  has  something  to  do  with 
Sarah. " 

In  the  morning  they  heard  the  same  cry 
again. 

"  Thomas, "  said  Nancy,  "you  follow  the 
sound." 

The  morning  prayers  were  beginning  in 
the  great  grove,  where  a  sort  of  tent  had 
been  made  of  green  boughs. 

A  hymn  was  arising — 

"Lord,  in  the  morning  thou  shalt  hear.'" 

Nancy  joined  the  kneeling  people,  while 

Thomas  went  out  into  the  Wilderness  trail. 

He  had  not  gone  far  when  a  sight  startled 


THE  CATHEDRAL  UNDER  THE  TREES     119 

him.  It  was  that  of  an  old  Indian  woman 
plodding  along  with  a  stick,  making  a  bed 
of  her  back  and  crooning  as  she  passed 
along.  In  front  of  her  ran  a  little  dog — 
white,  or  nearly  so,  with  a  bushy  tail.  It 
looked  like  a  wolf-dog.  The  dog  ran  back  to 
the  old  woman  when  he  saw  Thomas  and 
circled  around  her.  He  suddenly  stopped, 
threw  up  his  head  and  uttered  the  same 
sound  that  Thomas  had  heard  in  the  morn- 
ing— 

"Cry-oo-oo-oi!" 

The    old    woman    stopped    as    she    saw 
Thomas  approaching.     She  said : 
" There  are  wolves  in  the  timber." 
"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  asked  Thomas. 
"To  the  meeting." 
"What  is  your  name?" 
"Moo-May,  they  call  me." 
"What  have  you  on  your  back?" 
'  *  That  is  my  little  white  girl.    She  is  sick, 
has  the  fall  fever,  but  she  wanted  to  have 


120         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

her  bed  made  in  sight  of  the  meeting,  and 
hear  the  preaching  and  the  singing,  and  so  I 
am  bringing  her  along.  My  back  is 
strong." 

" Where  did  you  find  this  girl?" 

"I  saved  her  from  my  own  people.  She 
entered  into  my  breast,  as  I  had  lost  my 
own.  I  hid  her  behind  a  log  when  my  own 
people  fell  upon  the  settlers,  and  hid  her 
away  in  the  wood.  Then  I  could  not  let  her 
go.  She  likes  to  hear  preaching  and  sing- 
ing, so  I  have  brought  her.  I  came  alone 
and  reached  the  place  last  night.  I  take 
care  of  her,  and  my  little  wolf-dog  here  he 
takes  care  of  me,  so  let  us  pass  along." 

Thomas  looked  at  the  sick  girl.  She  was 
a  slender  child  and  was  suffering  from  the 
malarial  fever  then  common  to  the  country. 

"Did  you  ever  know  a  family  by  the  name 
of  Sparrow,  in  the  Harding  woods'?" 

"No,  not  that  I  am  sure  of." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  family  by  the 


THE  CATHEDRAL  UNDER  THE  TREES     121 

name  of  Berry?  Did  you  ever  see  a  woman 
by  the  name  of  Berry,  in  Harding  woods?" 

The  old  Indian  turned  around,  and  said: 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  be  talking  to  a 
stranger  as  to  whom  I  know.  You  go  right 
along,  and  I  will  go  on  my  own  way." 

Thomas  pretended  to  go  on.  He  turned 
back  when  he  was  out  of  sight  of  the  Indian 
woman  and  her  tender  burden. 

He  ran  back  to  the  place  of  the  encamp- 
ment. He  called: 

"Nancy!" 

The  girl  came  out  to  receive  him  back 
again. 

"I  have  found  Sarah!" 

"Where?" 

"She  is  coming  on  the  back  of  an  old 
Indian  woman.  The  little  dog  is  with 
them." 

"When  will  they  come?" 

"They  will  be  here  soon." 

But    they    did    not    come.    Nancy    and 


122        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

Thomas  roamed  the  woods  for  them  during 
the  meeting,  but  no  trace  of  the  Indian 
woman,  Sarah,  or  the  dog,  was  to  be  found. 
Even  the  peculiar  cry  of  the  dog  was  not 
heard  again. 

The  Berrys  were  broken-hearted  with 
disappointment,  but  still  felt  they  would 
find  Sarah  some  day. 


SLEEPING  UNDER  THE  WAGON 

THEY  had  made  their  tent  amid  some 
tall  maples,  a  little  distance  from  the 
main  grove.  As  a  rule,  on  these  trips  people 
slept  for  safety  under  the  wagon  that 
carried  their  few  belongings.  The  woods 
were  pleasant  at  night,  but  " scary,"  to  use 
the  pioneer  word.  Bears  would  sometimes 
follow  them  at  a  distance  in  day  time,  and 
though  they  were  harmless  they  scared  the 
children.  The  timber  wolves  were  also 
harmless,  and  there  were  but  few  venomous 
snakes,  but  there  was  one  animal  that 
caused  Nancy  to  draw  near  the  main  wagon 
when  she  heard  its  cry ;  it  was  the  panther. 
On  the  second  night  of  their  stay  in  some 
lone  clump  of  timber  on  the  still  and  level 

123 


124         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

lands,  the  voice  of  the  panther  would  be 
often  heard  like  a  crying  child.  The  horses 
would  first  hear  it  and  begin  to  beat  their 
feet  on  the  ground.  Then  the  cry  would 
pierce  the  air,  and  cause  them  to  start  and 
tremble.  There  is  hardly  any  sound  of  the 
forests  that  so  affects  the  nerves  of  men  or 
animals  as  the  cry  of  the  panther. 

Thomas  had  been  feeling  anxious  ever 
since  the  night  before,  when  they  had  heard 
its  first  cry.  This  panther  is  more  properly 
called  a  lynx  or  wildcat,  and  is  feared  be- 
cause it  is  very  persistent.  When  hungry 
it  will  attack  anything,  and  is  very  difficult 
to  see,  and  it  can  jump  with  almost  light- 
ning rapidity. 

"We  shall  rest  without  rocking  to-night," 
said  Thomas,  "but  we  will  need  to  have  one 
ear  open,  for  something  has  been  following 
us  in  a  path  through  the  trees." 

"Have  you  seen  anything?"  asked  Nancy. 

"No,  but  the  horses  have  felt  it." 


SLEEPING  UNDER  THE  WAGON  125 

"A  panther?"  asked  Nancy. 

"It  may  be — I  cannot  tell,  but  there  is 
something  wrong  in  the  air.  The  treetops 
are  as  close  as  tents  all  along  the  way,  and 
a  panther  might  hide  in  them,  stretched  out 
like  a  snake." 

The  horses  were  uneasy,  treading  the 
ground. 

"Panthers  do  not  need  food  at  this  season 
of  the  year,"  said  Nancy. 

"A  panther  will  seek  the  food  that  he 
best  likes  at  any  season  of  the  year.  There 
are  big  panthers  that  live  in  tree  tops  like 
these — some  folks  call  them  tigers.  The 
panther  kills  animals  by  leaping  upon  them 
so  as  to  break  their  necks." 

Except  for  the  cry  of  the  night  birds, 
nature  was  silent;  not  a  breeze  stirred  the 
tops  of  the  trees.  But  the  horses  continued 
restless.  Thomas  repeated: 

"There  is  something  wrong  in  the  air. 
The  horses  sniff  something. " 


126         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

He  fell  asleep  in  his  own  shelter,  but 
Nancy  could  hear  the  beating  of  the  horses' 
feet,  and  lay  awake  in  the  shelter  set  apart 
for  the  women. 

There  fell  on  her  ears  a  sound  as  of  some- 
thing creeping  in  the  air  among  the  tree 
tops.  She  listened  with  intent  ears. 

i  i  Thomas !  Awake !  There  is  something ! ' ' 

Thomas  awoke  and  listened. 

"The  wind  is  rising,"  said  he,  and  he  be- 
gan to  doze. 

"Thomas,  I  can  hear  it!" 

"Kemember  Stony  Point!"  gasped  the 
half-dozing  Thomas  in  a  high  tone.  ' '  There, 
Nancy,  all  is  right  now — these  are  the  days 
of  Wayne." 

"But,  Thomas,  Thomas,  Stony  Point  was 
lost  to  the  British  because  they  slept  on, 
and  did  not  watch  out.  Varmints  don't  re- 
member Stony  Point.  The  British  do  that 
— and  the  Indians." 

Thomas  snored. 


SLEEPING  UNDER  THE  WAGON  127 

Suddenly  there  was  a  deep  shadow  in  the 
high  air,  and  something  seemed  leaping  or 
falling.  Nancy  was  watching  through  the 
spokes  of  the  wheels. 

A  piercing  cry  was  flung  out  by  what 
seemed  the  leaping  shadow,  merciless, 
exultant. 

The  whole  company  started.  One  of  the 
horses  had  strayed  away  some  feet  from  his 
tether,  and  was  feeding  on  some  green  grass 
under  a  clump  of  trees  that  rose  like  a  huge 
tower.  He  met  the  cry  in  the  air  with  a 
pain-fraught  squeal  and  by  frantic  leaps. 

The  company  started  up  in  affright.  An 
animal  had  descended  from  the  trees,  by  a 
long  leap,  and  had  fastened  itself  to  the 
neck  of  the  horse.  It  was  a  lithe  but  heavy 
animal,  and  indeed  as  long  as  a  tiger. 

Thomas  did  not  seize  his  rifle,  but  his 
broad  axe.  In  a  few  minutes  the  animal 
lay  dead  on  the  ground,  hacked  by  mighty 


128         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

blows,  and  the  horse  jumped  about  trem- 
bling and  bleeding. 

"But  there  may  be  another  panther 
hiding  in  the  trees,"  said  Nancy. 

"Yes,  there  may  be  at  some  other  time, 
but  not  now.  There  may  always  be  some 
other  dangers,  but  there  are  no  more 
panthers  here." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"On  account  of  the  atmosphere.  If  there 
were  another  panther  here,  the  other  horse 
would  know  it.  Don't  you  see  how  steady 
he  stands  now?  He  would  know  it  if  any 
other  danger  were  near." 

Thomas  lay  down  and  was  soon  asleep. 
The  moonlight  glittered  on  the  trees,  as  on 
a  lake.  The  cool  winds  arose  in  the  deep 
night,  but  little  Nancy  could  not  sleep. 

So  she  sang  over  and  over  some  hymn  like 
this  one  of  a  later  period : 


SLEEPING  UNDER  THE  WAGON  129 

"Lord,  keep  us  safe  this  night, 
Secure  from  all  our  fears, 
May  angels  guard  us  while  we  sleep 
'Till  morning  light  appears. " 

or  the  camp  meeting  hymn : 

"Come,  thou  fount  of  every  blessing, 
Tune  my  heart  to  sing  thy  grace, 

Streams  of  mercy  never  ceasing 
Call  for  sounds  of  loudest  praise. ' ' 

In  the  morning  there  was  a  great  honk- 
ing of  geese,  and  when  Thomas  awoke  he 
said: 

"We  must  be  near  a  goose-nest  pasture. 
Sleep  well,  Nancy?" 

"Not  a  wink.  I  kept  watch  with  the 
Lord." 

"Shows  what  a  true  heart  you  have.  Go 
to  sleep,  now,  and  I  will  take  off  the 
panther's  skin." 

He  went  to  work,  when  a  great  surprise 
came  to  him. 

9 


130        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

In  the  panther's  heart  was  found  an 
arrow.  How  came  it  there? 

"Nancy,  some  one  is  following  us! 
Nancy?  Nancy?" 

" Where?"  cried  Nancy,  coming  out  of 
her  shelter  with  white  face  and  flowing  hair. 

"  Where?" 

But  no  answer  came  back.  Thomas  could 
not  say,  and  the  air  was  still  with  the  fresh 
glow  of  the  morning. 

How  came  the  arrow  in  the  heart  of  the 
panther  ? 

The  company  wondered.  They  talked  of 
the  mystery  often  when  they  were  not  at- 
tending the  services  at  the  great  stand. 

"I  suspect,''  said  Nancy,  "that  some  one 
unseen  fired  the  arrow  as  the  panther  leaped, 
and  it  might  be  the  woman  who  bore  the 
sick  girl  on  her  back.  She  may  be  hiding 
near  us.  What  if  the  sick  girl  should  be 
Sarah,  as  Thomas  thinks  she  was?  If  that 
were  so,  Thomas  would  surely  forgive  that 


SLEEPING  UNDER  THE  WAGON  131 

Indian,  notwithstanding  the  murder  of  his 
father." 

The  company  returned  to  their  homes 
through  the  woods,  still  looking  for  Sarah 
and  wondering. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   MESSISAGO  CHIEF 

ONE  day,  after  they  had  returned  home 
from  the  camp-meeting,  Mr.  Berry 
came  home  excited. 

"He  is  coming!" 

"Who,  Thomas'?"  said  his  wife. 

"One  who  will  make  the  partridge  fly  and 
the  little  quail  run." 

Thomas  Lincoln  came  running  to  tell 
Mother  Berry  the  strange  news.  It  con- 
cerned Little  Turtle,  or  Mis-ik-kin-ak-wa, 
the  Messisago  Chief,  or  Chief  of  the 
Miamis.  He  was  no  common  chief.  He 
could  reason  like  a  statesman  and  speak  like 
an  orator.  He  was  the  lord  of  the  forest; 
the  victor  over  St.  Clair.  Just  now  he  was 

133 


134        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

on  a  mission  of  peace  and  had  a  letter  from 
General  Wayne  saying  lie  was  to  be  well 
treated. 

He  wore  Indian  moccasins,  a  blue  petti- 
coat that  came  half  way  down  his  thighs,  a 
European  waistcoat  and  surtout;  his  head 
was  bound  with  an  Indian  cap  that  hung 
half  way  down  his  back,  and  almost  entirely 
filled  with  plain  silver  broaches,  to  the  num- 
ber of  more  than  two  hundred;  he  had  two 
ear-rings  to  each  ear ;  the  upper  part  of  each 
was  formed  of  three  silver  medals,  about 
the  size  of  a  dollar;  the  lower  part  was 
formed  of  quarters  of  dollars  and  fell  more 
than  twelve  inches  from  his  ears — one  from 
each  ear  over  his  breast,  the  other  over  his 
back ;  he  had  three  very  large  nose  jewels  of 
silver  that  were  curiously  painted. 

He  was  one  of  the  noted  Indians  of 
American  history. 

He  once  went  to  Philadelphia,  where  he 
met  Volney,  the  author  of  the  "Kuins  of 


THE  MESSISAGO  CHIEF  135 

Empires,"  who  was  traveling  in  America 
at  the  time,  and  also  had  had  interviews 
with  Kosciusko,  who  had  presented  him 
with  a  robe  of  sea-otter  skin. 

His  talks  with  Volney  had  won  that  his- 
torian's admiration. 

When  Mr.  Volney  asked  Little  Turtle 
what  prevented  him  from  living  among  the 
whites,  and  if  he  were  not  more  comfort- 
able in  Philadelphia  than  upon  the  banks 
of  the  Wabash,  he  said : 

"  Taking  all  things  together,  you  have  the 
advantage  over  us ;  but  here  I  am  deaf  and 
dumb.  I  do  not  talk  your  language ;  I  can 
neither  hear  nor  make  myself  heard.  When 
I  walk  through  the  streets,  I  see  every  per- 
son in  his  shop  employed  about  something 
— one  makes  shoes,  another  hats,  a  third 
sells  cloth,  and  every  one  lives  by  his  labor. 
I  say  to  myself,  which  of  all  these  things  can 
you  do  ?  Not  one.  I  can  make  a  bow  or  an 
arrow,  catch  fish,  kill  game,  and  go  to  war ; 


136        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

but  none  of  these  is  of  any  use  here.  To 
learn  what  is  done  here  would  require  a 
long  time. 

"Old  age  conies  on.  I  should  be  a  piece 
of  furniture  useless  to  my  nation,  useless  to 
the  whites,  and  useless  to  myself.  I  must 
return  to  my  own  country. " 

He  learned  much  in  Philadelphia.  So 
much  that,  had  the  tribe  heeded  his  counsel, 
they  would  never  have  fought  General 
Wayne.  He  said:  "We  have  beaten  the 
enemy  twice  under  separate  commanders. 
We  cannot  expect  the  same  good  fortune 
always  to  attend  us.  The  Americans  are 
now  led  by  a  chief  who  never  sleeps:  the 
night  and  the  day  are  alike  to  him.  And 
during  all  the  time  that  he  has  been  march- 
ing upon  our  villages,  notwithstanding  the 
watchfulness  of  our  young  men,  we  have 
never  been  able  to  surprise  him.  Think  well 
of  it  There  is  something  whispers  to  me, 


THE  MESSISAGO  CHIEF  137 

it  would  be  prudent  to  listen  to  his  offers 
of  peace." 

Another  chief  arose  to  answer  him: 

"He  speaks  with  the  heart  of  a  coward," 
said  he.  "Who  is  this  Gen.  Wayne  that  we 
should  fear  him1?  The  hour  of  the  Indian 
has  come.  Who  will  lead  us  forth1?" 

"  I, "  said  the  lord  of  the  Ohio.  "  I  am  no 
coward.  I  only  seek  the  good  of  my  race." 

But  to  return  to  Thomas  and  the  strange 
news  he  had  to  tell. 

He  came  running  up  to  the  door. 

"Little  Turtle  is  coming!"  he  cried. 

Aunt  Berry  was  greatly  excited,  but  not 
Nancy. 

"And  now  we  will  inquire  of  him/'  said 
Nancy. 

"About  what?"  asked  Mother  Berry. 

"Why,  about  Sarah;  he  may  know." 

"Would  you  dare  to  talk  with  him1?  He 
could  not  understand  you." 


138         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Thomas.  "He  takes  an 
interpreter  with  him." 

A  wooden  trumpet  blew.  A  horse  came 
cantering  into  the  clearing,  bearing  a  wily 
Indian. 

A  band  of  Indians  on  horseback  followed 
among  them.  Little  Turtle,  who  was  a 
giant,  rode  in  front  of  the  rest. 

He  was  decorated  with  silver  dollars. 

Aunt  Berry  had  a  dish  of  pounded 
parched  corn  in  her  cupboard,  and  she 
brought  it  out  and  offered  it  to  him.  He 
accepted  it,  shaking  his  head  and  jingling 
the  dollars  on  the  cords  of  his  cap. 

She  spoke  to  his  interpreter  of  Sarah. 

The  chief  shook  his  head.  Suddenly  he 
seemed  to  understand. 

"I  send  her  back,"  said  the  interpreter 
for  the  chief.  "Let  your  boy  go  with  me." 
He  meant  Thomas. 

Aunt  Berry  shook  her  head. 

"No  spare." 


MOTHER  BERRY  OFFERS  LITTLE  TURTLE  A 
DISH   OF  PARCHED   CORN 


THE  MESSISAGO  CHIEF  139 

"You  no  send?" 

"I  can  no  send." 

The  Indians  set  up  a  fearful  yell  and 
vanished  through  the  trees. 

"I  could  not  afford  to  lose  two,"  said 
Aunt  Berry.  "  There  was  red  in  his  eyes. 
My  heart  said  no — my  inner  life  tells  me 
the  truth.  Little  Turtle  will  never  defeat 
Wayne.  It  is  Wayne  who  will  send  Sarah 
back." 

Little  Turtle  came  back  no  more.  He 
failed  in  his  peace  mission  to  the  Southern 
Indians,  and  so  went  back  north  to  his  own 
tribe,  determined  to  make  the  best  fight  he 
could.  He  knew  it  would  be  a  desperate 
affair,  for  Wayne  now  had  a  large  army, 
including  more  than  a  thousand  Kentuck- 
ians  who  knew  how  to  hunt  Indians  better 
than  the  regular  soldiers. 

And  now  it  was  known  that  the  battle 
must  soon  be  at  hand.  The  soldiers  had 
been  gone  a  long  time,  and  rumors  came  oc- 


140        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

casionally  that  they  would  soon  catch  up 
with  the  Indians. 

Nancy  watched  daily  at  the  door  for  a 
chance  bearer  of  news.  Did  a  man  come 
riding  along  the  road,  she  would  hail  him  to 
ask  if  he  had  any  news  from  Gen.  Wayne. 
She  expected  that  the  latter  would  engage 
the  forces  of  Little  Turtle  and  defeat  them, 
and  then  some  soldiers  would  appear  bear- 
ing the  empty  plate,  and  bringing  home 
Sarah  from  captivity.  If  it  should  be,  she 
would  judge  all  Indians  to  be  like  Moo-May 
— with  a  remnant  of  good  in  their  hearts. 

Her  theory  was  that  Moo-May  had  pro- 
tected Sarah,  and  had  come  to  love  her  on 
account  of  the  loss  of  her  own  child.  Since 
the  camp-meeting  Mr.  Berry  had  hunted 
over  nearly  the  whole  of  Kentucky  for 
another  sight  of  Moo-May,  but  she  had  dis- 
appeared as  if  the  ground  had  opened  to 
receive  her.  The  Berrys  were  heart-broken 
over  the  thought  that  they  had  been  so  near 


THE  MESSISAGO  CHIEF  141 

their  child  and  lost  her  again,  for  they  felt 
certain  the  little  girl  was  Sarah. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MAD  ANTHONY  WAYNE 

AND  now  we  must  follow  General  Wayne 
in  his  pursuit  of  the  Indians  under 
Little  Turtle. 

It  was  said  of  General  Washington  that 
he  seldom  became  angry;  but  when  he  did 
his  wrath  was  terrible.  When  he  heard  how 
General  Arthur  St.  Glair  had  been  defeated 
by  the  Indians  he  did  two  things.  First,  he 
gave  vent  to  his  passion  in  a  way  that  awed 
his  secretary,  who  was  present.  Then  he 
sent  for  General  Anthony  Wayne  to  punish 
the  Indians. 

Not  only  was  Wayne  a  great  soldier,  but 
his  name  gave  the  people  confidence.  They 
felt  sure  he  would  not  fail,  for  in  spite  of 

143 


144        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

the  foolish  name  of  "Mad  Anthony"  which 
people  gave  him,  he  was  as  prudent  as  he 
was  brave. 

Major  Andre,  the  spy  who  was  hanged 
during  the  revolution,  wrote  of  him : 

"And  now  I've  closed  my  epic  strain, 

I  tremble  as  I  show  it, 
Lest  the  same  warrior-drover  (Wayne 

Should  ever  catch  the  poet." 

The  same  warrior-drover  Wayne  did 
catch  the  poet,  and  was  one  of  the  officers 
whose  names  are  associated  with  the  execu- 
tion of  Andre  for  his  share  in  Benedict 
Arnold's  treason. 

At  Brandywine,  at  Monmouth,  at  Valley 
Forge,  and  Yorktown,  his  success  was 
notable,  and  his  soldiers  loved  him. 

" Dandy  Wayne,"  the  soldiers  sometimes 
called  him,  for  he  favored  the  use  of  bright 
uniforms  and  was  always  trying  to  get  the 
best  for  them. 


MAD  ANTHONY  WAYNE  145 

The  Indians  called  him  "the  snake,"  and 
the  people  who  saw  him  on  the  march,  the 
"wind"  and  the  "tornado." 

He  was  born  in  East  Town,  Chester 
County,  Penna.,  in  1745.  His  ancestors 
were  Irish,  and  had  known  service  at  Boyne 
Water.  He  was  a  farmer's  son,  was  edu- 
cated at  the  Philadelphia  Academy,  and  be- 
came a  land  surveyor  and  legislator,  and 
was  for  the  day  a  rich  man  when  war  was 
declared.  He  entered  the  Revolutionary 
army  and  rapidly  rose  to  distinction.  Wher- 
ever he  went  he  bore  the  banner  of  victory, 
and  he  gave  all  his  fortune  to  the  cause. 

After  Yorktown  he  was  sent  south  to  join 
Gen.  Nathanael  Greene  against  the  British 
and  Creek  Indians  in  Georgia.  Here,  too, 
he  organized  victory.  He  struck,  and  the 
Creeks  disappeared.  The  Georgians  liked 
him  so  well  that  he  lived  there  for  a  while 
after  peace  was  made  with  great  Britain. 

He  answered  Washington's  summons  at 
10 


146         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

once.  The  tribes  lie  was  to  subdue  were 
powerful,  wily,  filled  with  the  spirit  of  re- 
venge and  exultant  over  their  recent  vic- 
tory. If  Wayne  could  subdue  them,  the 
middle  West  would  be  open  to  civilization. 
Detroit  might  become  a  city,  Louisville,  St. 
Louis,  Chicago  (Fort  Dearborn),  Vin- 
cennes,  Marietta,  Cincinnati,  Indianapolis, 
a  hundred  settlements  on  the  trail  might 
grow  into  towns;  the  Cumberland  Gap 
might  become  a  gateway  to  a  new  immigra- 
tion, the  woods  might  fall,  the  prairies 
might  twinkle  with  lights,  and  a  gigantic 
empire  arise  and  welcome  the  world. 

The  Indian  tribes  were  incited  against 
the  borderers  by  the  English  in  Canada  and 
at  various  posts  in  our  country  which  they 
had  not  given  up.  They  bore  English  arms. 
After  the  defeat  of  St.  Clair,  Kentucky, 
Ohio  and  Indiana  were  often  ravaged  by 
Indian  bands  who  would  swiftly  descend  on 
a  settlement,  kill  and  scalp  the  men,  while 


MAD  ANTHONY  WAYNE  147 

women  and  children  were  taken  captives. 
Wayne  marched  into  this  region  of  fire  and 
blood.  He  built  a  fort  near  Greenville, 
which  he  called  Fort  Recovery.  He  pushed 
forward  to  the  Miami  River,  and  established 
Fort  Adams  and  Fort  Miami.  He  did  not 
move  in  a  hurry.  His  idea  was  to  be  always 
prepared  and  never  to  retreat  an  inch.  It 
took  him  a  long  time  to  train  his  soldiers 
so  that  they  could  fight  Indians.  Wherever 
he  went  he  had  to  build  roads  and  forts,  so 
that  he  could  have  his  ammunition  and  pro- 
visions safe.  But  he  never  took  one  back- 
ward step.  The  Indians  soon  called  him 
"the  General  that  never  sleeps,"  and  this 
was  almost  literally  true. 

When  an  army  is  asleep,  sentinels  are  al- 
ways kept  on  guard  so  as  to  prevent  sur- 
prise. The  penalty  of  sleeping  on  sentinel 
duty  is  death,  for  it  might  mean  many 
deaths  if  an  enemy  should  get  past  a  sen- 
tinel. Every  night,  as  soon  as  his  soldiers 


148         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

were  asleep,  General  Wayne  would  go 
around  to  see  if  all  his  sentinels  were  on 
duty.  He  would  spend  the  night  doing  this, 
to  be  sure  the  Indians  could  not  surprise  his 
little  army  as  it  lay  encamped  in  the  woods. 

Many  children  who  read  this  story  have 
traveled  in  Ohio  and  Indiana  on  swift  rail- 
way trains.  They  have  seen  the  beautiful, 
farms,  villages  and  cities  in  those  states. 
But  they  cannot  imagine  how  in  Wayne's 
day  all  this  country  was  covered  with  a 
dense  forest.  There  were  no  towns,  no 
bridges  over  the  rivers,  and  no  roads  except 
as  the  soldiers  built  them.  This  was  a  slow 
task,  but  when  Wayne  did  anything  it  was 
thorough. 

Slowly  he  built  his  roads  and  forts  north- 
west from  Cincinnati  until  he  reached  the 
country  where  the  Indians  must  either  fight 
or  go  farther  west. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  BATTLE  OF  FALLEN  TIMBERS 

WE  have  now  to  tell  about  General 
Wayne's  great  victory  over  the  In- 
dians at  Falling  Timbers.  It  is  not  only 
an  interesting  story,  but  it  bears  directly  on 
our  narration  of  Nancy  and  Thomas.  Had 
not  Wayne  succeeded,  it  seems  likely  that 
Abraham  Lincoln  would  have  never  left 
Kentucky  and  might  possibly  have  never 
reached  the  prominence  he  achieved  as  in 
many  respects  the  greatest  of  all  Americans. 
Seventy-five  years  after  Nancy  gave  her 
pewter  plate  to  Wayne,  her  son  was  uni- 
versally declared  to  have  been  not  only  the 
greatest,  but  one  of  the  best  of  men.  Not 
only  did  this  opinion  prevail  in  the  United 

149 


150        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

States,  in  North  and  South  alike,  and  espe- 
cially among  those  who  fought  against  him, 
but  in  the  palaces  of  kings  and  emperors  of 
Europe,  among  the  good  and  great  the  good 
and  once  unknown  name  of  Lincoln  was 
spoken  then  as  ever  since  with  reverence 
and  almost  adoration.  He  loved  all,  and  he 
suffered  all,  and  he  accomplished  more  for 
the  real  good  of  humanity  than  almost  any 
other  man  who  has  ever  lived. 

In  saying  that  Wayne's  victory  was  in  a 
considerable  degree  responsible  for  Lin- 
coln's rise  to  power,  it  is  freely  confessed 
that  God  overrules  many  things  for  good 
and  that  He  works  out  His  purposes  in  His 
own  way.  God  might  not  have  called  Lin- 
coln to  the  task  which  he  performed  because 
circumstances  might  have  designated  an- 
other. Nor  can  we  believe,  in  any  event, 
that  Lincoln  would  have  failed  to  be  a  great 
and  good  man.  It  is  possible  that  under 
other  circumstances  he  might  not  have  been 


THE  BATTLE  OF  FALLEN  TIMBERS       151 

the  chosen  instrument  for  accomplishing 
God's  purposes  in  America. 

So  far  as  human  eye  can  see,  the  victory 
of  Wayne  over  the  Indians  made  the  oppor- 
tunity by  which  Lincoln,  through  a  variety 
of  circumstances,  rose  to  supreme  human 
authority  and  greatness  in  this  country. 
Wayne's  victory  led  Abraham  Lincoln  from 
Kentucky,  through  Indiana,  to  Illinois,  and 
thence  to  greatness  in  the  popular  estima- 
tion. 

Twice  had  Washington  sent  armies 
against  the  Indians  of  the  Northwest,  and 
twice  had  they  met  defeat  near  the  borders 
of  Indiana  and  Ohio.  Both  times  the  In- 
dians were  under  Little  Turtle,  one  of  the 
greatest  of  Indian  generals.  We  must 
credit  him  with  his  undoubted  abilities. 
Yet  can  we  doubt  that,  if  white  men  had  al- 
ways been  just  and  kind,  the  wars  would 
never  have  occurred. 

General  Harmar  fought  and  lost  at  the 


152        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

Maumee,  or  Miami,  in  a  battle  that  was 
perhaps  almost  the  most  disastrous  in  our 
annals.  After  him,  General  Arthur  St. 
Clair  fought,  and  the  disaster  was  even 
greater.  Little  Turtle  had  in  both  cases 
won  on  the  merits  of  his  superior  strategy. 
The  country  was  then  as  distant  in  time 
and  difficulty  as  Alaska  is  now — even  more 
so.  He  fought  a  good  fight  and  is  now  re- 
spected. 

But  Wayne's  plan  was  different.  He  de- 
termined to  meet  the  Indians  on  their  own 
grounds.  He  trained  his  men.  He  took 
Kentuckians  on  horseback,  and,  after  fail- 
ing to  make  a  peaceful  settlement,  he  fell 
upon  Little  Turtle  and  his  braves  at  day- 
light and  served  them  as  they  had  served 
the  whites.  It  was  cruel  in  one  sense,  but 
in  war  there  must  be  cruelty.  He  surprised 
the  Indians,  cut  them  down  relentlessly,  and 
followed  them  up  so  sharply  that,  as  we 
shall  see,  peace  resulted. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  FALLEN  TIMBERS       153 

The  Indians  had  undoubtedly  been  en- 
couraged and  helped  by  the  British,"  many 
of  whom  fought  with  them ;  but  the  victory 
of  Wayne  was  complete,  and  after  his  day 
Indian  wars  belonged  to  the  farther  west. 

These  things  were  not  done  suddenly.  It 
took  time,  but  all  this  while  Nancy  Hanks 
continued  to  watch  from  the  door  and  win- 
dow for  the  return  of  Sarah.  She  fancied 
that  the  squaw's  heart  would  cling  to  Sarah 
until  she  was  compelled  to  surrender  her. 

One  day  a  man  rode  by.  He  lifted  his 
hand  as  he  passed  and  cried  out : 

"Mad  Wayne  has  triumphed  again! 
Where  are  the  Indians  now?  Ask  the 
autumn  leaves.  The  captives  will  all  be  re- 
turned. They  have  made  a  treaty  to  return 
the  captives.  Watch  out  for  your  own  girl 
Sarah!" 

He  was  a  stranger,  but  the  story  of  Sarah 
was  known  through  all  the  country  round. 

The  heart  of  Nancy  again  danced  for  joy. 


154         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

At  the  passing  of  every  party  in  a  wagon  or 
on  horse-back  she  looked  for  the  return  of 
Sarah.  How  would  she  come? 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  TREATY  OF   GREENVILLE 

44   A    TEE ATY  of  peace!   All  the  captives 
-L\_     are  to  be  returned!"    So  shouted 
an  Indian  runner  near  the  home  of  the 
Berrys. 

The  year  1795  brought  the  famous  treaty 
of  Greenville,  which  at  last  made  the  West 
a  safe  place  for  the  whites  to  live  in.  Early 
in  the  year,  the  leading  Indians  began  to 
manifest  a  subdued  spirit,  and  to  seek  from 
Wayne  a  council  for  permanent  peace.  The 
Delawares,  Ottawas,  and  Pottawattomies 
came  to  him  with  friendly  words.  Wayne 
kindled  council  fires,  and  covered  them  up, 
after  smoking  the  pipe  of  peace.  This 
meant  that  he  wanted  peace,  though  he  told 

155 


156         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

them  all  he  would  fight  as  long  as  any  of 
them. 

At  the  end  of  June,  thirty-four  Chippe- 
was  arrived  from  Michigan  for  a  peace  con- 
ference. This  was  important,  for  the  tribe 
was  the  strongest  in  the  Northwest,  and  all 
others  would  be  likely  to  follow  them. 
Wayne  saw  that  the  Fourth  of  July  that 
year  could  be  made  glorious,  that  it  could 
be  made  an  event  ever  to  be  sacred  to  the 
memory  of  the  American  Union.  He  said 
to  the  assembled  chiefs  on  July  3rd : 

"You  are  welcome  to  my  heart.  I  kindle 
the  council  fires  with  a  willing  hand.  You 
will  be  protected  here. 

"To-morrow  is  July  Fourth,  the  day  on 
which  this  nation  proclaimed  herself  free 
from  Great  Britain.  We  celebrate  it  with 
the  booming  of  cannon  and  parades.  But 
do  you  not  fear.  The  parade  is  not  intended 
to  do  you  harm.  Join  with  us  in  the  cele- 


THE  TREATY  OF  GREENVILLE     157 


bration.    You  will  be  one  with  our  nation 


now." 


That  Fourth  was  a  celebration  not  only 
of  Independence,  but  of  the  first  session  of 
the  Council  of  Greenville. 

Wayne  summoned  all  the  tribes  of  the 
Northwest  after  that  memorable  Fourth. 
They  came  during  the  months  that  followed. 
The  council  fires  were  kindled  and  raked  up 
again. 

On  the  3rd  of  August,  1795,  the  great 
Treaty  of  Greenville  was  signed.  There 
were  present  representatives  of  chief -men 
from  the  Wyandots,  the  Delawares,  the 
Shawanese,  the  Ottawas,  the  Chippewas, 
the  Pottawattomies,  the  Miamis,  the  Kicka- 
poos,  and  lesser  tribes,  the  delegates  alone 
numbering  more  than  a  thousand  men. 
They  had  concluded  to  stop  fighting.  They 
saw  that  it  was  no  longer  any  use. 

By  that  treaty  the  Indians  agreed  to  sur- 
render all  the  captives  in  the  wilderness  of 


158        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

the  Ohio.  This  was  important,  as  there 
were  many  of  these  who  had  been  captured 
in  many  states. 

The  news  spread  through  all  the  settle- 
ments. Little  Nancy  soon  heard  and 
cheered  the  name  of  Wayne. 

Can  we  wonder  that  Pennsylvania  re- 
ceived back  "Mad  Anthony"  to  her  borders 
with  ringing  bells,  thunders  of  artillery  and 
strewing  of  flowers  ? 

After  this  great  treaty  came  what  may  be 
called  the  "Days  of  Wayne  in  the  Wilder- 
ness." The  forest  that  had  rung  with  the 
warwhoop  grew  still;  its  shadows  were 
those  of  peacefulness.  The  man  of  the 
White  Cockade,  as  Wayne  was  called,  dis- 
appeared in  part  from  these  scenes;  his 
death  in  1796  was  followed  by  an  inrush  of 
people  who  talked  of  him  as  though  he  was 
still  living  and  made  the  poor  Indian  cower 
at  his  name.  The  smoke  of  new  chimneys 
now  filled  the  sky,  like  civilization  on  the 


THE  TREATY  OF  GREENVILLE  159 

march,  from  the  great  lakes  or  inland  seas 
to  the  Mississippi. 

When  little  Nancy  heard  the  provisions 
of  the  treaty  she  leaped  again  for  joy.  She 
set  her  spinning  wheel  by  the  door,  and 
spun  more  lively  than  ever. 

The  empty  plate  might  come  back  again. 
She  sang  daily  the  old  Handelian  song 
found  in  old  music  books:  "See,  the  Con- 
quering Hero  Comes!"  and  the  hymn 
stanza : 

' '  How  long,  dear  Saviour,  oh,  how  long, 

Shall  that  bright  hour  delay! 
Fly  swift  around,  ye  wheels  of  time, 

And  bring  the  welcome  day!" 

She  had  never  spun  so  lively  before.  The 
very  birds  came  to  peek  at  her  as  she  sat  by 
the  door  which  opened  towards  the  deep 
green  summer  woods. 


A  STRANGE  INDIAN  WAYFARER 

WE  have  said  that  many  white  women 
and  children  were  taken  captive  by 
the  Indians,  and  it  was  remarkable  how  the 
squaws  often  became  intensely  fond  of  the 
pale-faced  children.  There  were  many  In- 
dians wandering  with  white  children  in  the 
wilderness  around  what  is  now  Fort  Wayne, 
the  Summit  City,  but  what  was  then  a 
stockade  for  the  defence  of  the  pioneers  of 
the  Middle  West.  The  stockade  stood  in  an 
almost  direct  line  between  what  is  now 
Buffalo  and  Chicago,  and  was  a  place  of 
refuge  for  the  volunteer  army  of  pioneers 
who  were  making  homes  between  the  great 
rivers  tributary  to  the  Mississippi  and  the 
Great  Lakes. 

11  161 


162         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

It  was  a  country  of  wonderful  beauty,  of 
giant  forests,  of  occasional  rich  prairie 
lands,  of  noble  animals  and  wild  fowl.  The 
prairies  were  seas  of  flowers.  The  ancient 
trees  around  the  rivers  and  lakes  were 
towers  of  green.  Here  the  red  man  had 
roamed  free  for  unknown  periods,  hunting 
and  fishing,  holding  his  green-corn  dances, 
and  pipe  festivals,  under  the  full  moon 
which  to  him  was  a  night  sun.  It  is  not  sur- 
prising that  he  did  not  want  these  haunts 
disturbed. 

The  country  was  bounded  by  the  Missis- 
sippi and  the  northern  lakes,  or  inland  seas. 
To  the  south  rolled  the  Ohio,  with  banks  of 
verdure  and  Indian  maize  fields.  The  great 
animals  were  not  yet  gone,  but  were  disap- 
pearing under  the  marksmanship  of  the 
settlers. 

Captive  white  children  soon  came  to  like 
the  Indian  life,  which  was  friendly,  large, 
and  free.  It  was  easy  for  a  white  child  to 


A  STRANGE  INDIAN  WAYFARER  163 

learn  the  life  of  an  Indian,  far  easier  than 
for  an  Indian  child  to  become  like  a  white 
one.  The  children  who  were  brought  up  in 
captivity  and  rescued,  were  often  reluctant 
to  return  to  civilization ;  a  life  of  nature  had 
more  charms  for  them  than  the  habits  of 
restraint. 

After  the  camp-meeting  incident  Aunt 
Berry  was  more  careful  than  ever  to  feed 
every  Indian  that  came  to  her  door,  and 
question  him  in  regard  to  the  captives  of 
the  wilderness.  Had  he  seen  a  lone  Indian 
woman  with  a  little  white  girl  ? 

One  day,  an  old  Indian  came  to  the  cabin 
walking  slowly,  with  a  great  stick  for  a 
cane.  He  sat  down  beside  the  door.  Nancy 
gave  him  something  to  eat  and  said  to  her 
aunt: 

"Now  we  may  have  news  of  Sarah. " 

She  spoke  to  the  Indian  in  a  pleasing 
voice  and  asked : 

"Have  you  come  from  far$" 


164        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"From  the  great  cornfields — the  region 
of  the  Miamis,  where  the  plums,  the  black- 
berries grow." 

"Do  you  ever  meet  captive  children  by 
the  way — white  children?" 

"Oh,  yes,  they  are  to  be  seen  here  and 
there  in  the  towns." 

"Did  you  ever  meet  an  Indian  mother, 
with  a  little  white  girl?"  asked  Nancy. 

"She  loved  the  little  girl,"  said  the  In- 
dian, slowly,  "looked  into  her  eyes." 

"Then  you  have  met  such  a  woman,"  said 
Aunt  Betty. 

"An  Indian  mother  loves — her  heart 
burns  with  love." 

Nancy,  all  emotion,  began  to  tremble  and 
cry. 

The  Indian  sat  stolid  for  a  time,  then 
said  to  Nancy: 

"She  was  your  little  sister?" 

"Who?"  cried  Nancy. 

"The  girl  with  the  Indian  mother?" 


A  STRANGE  INDIAN  WAYFARER  165 

"Then  you  have  met  an  Indian  mother 
with  a  little  white  girl  like  me1?"  gasped 
Nancy. 

"An  Indian  mother,  her  own  child  gone, 
laid  away  under  the  blanket  of  earth,  where 
the  dews  weep,  and  the  flowers  are  wet  in 
the  morning.  I  lend  her  my  blanket  in  the 
rain." 

"You  have  met  such  a  woman  on  the  way  ? 
You  are  a  good  Indian,  I  know,"  said 
Nancy. 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"You  said  that  you  lent  your  blanket  to 
the  child  in  the  rain.  You  have  a  heart. 
Where  did  you  see  the  Indian  mother  and 
the  captive  girl?" 

"Did  I  say  that  I  had  met  an  Indian 
mother  and  captive  girl?  I  came  from  the 
cornfields. ' ' 

"Let  me  go  there  with  you." 

"It  is  a  long  way.  What  for  would  you 
go?" 


166        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

" To  find  her,  the  girl." 

"I  see,  but  she  is  loved  now — her  Indian 
mother  holds  her  in  her  arms,  and  sings  to 
her.  Can  you  sing?" 

"Come  into  the  house,"  said  Aunt  Betty, 
"and  I  will  let  you  lie  down  by  the  fire. 
The  night  will  be  cold." 

He  followed  Aunt  Betty  into  the  house, 
but  said  nothing  more. 

"I  do  believe  that  he  has  seen  Sarah," 
said  Aunt  Betty  to  Nancy. 

"Let  me  go  back  with  him,"  said  Nancy. 

"Back  where?" 

"To  the  land  of  the  cornfields.  If  I  could 
only  find  her,  I  would  have  a  sister." 

"And  I  another  little  daughter  like  you, 
but  the  Indian  woman  would  not  give  her 
up.  As  the  wayfarer  says,  an  Indian  moth- 
er loves." 

"I  have  a  plan.  It  thrills  me.  Oh,  it 
makes  my  heart  dance!" 

"What  is  it?" 


A  STRANGE  INDIAN  WAYFARER  167 

"I  will  bring  her  back  with  me!" 

"Who!" 

"Why,  the  Indian  woman. " 

"I  would  give  her  a  home  for  the  sake  of 
Sarah. " 

"But  the  Treaty  of  Greenville  will  com- 
pel the  Indian  mother  to  surrender  Sarah. ' ' 

"How  will  she  know  to  whom  to  return 
her?" 

"We  all  think  she  knows  to  whom  Sarah 
belongs.  Who  fired  the  arrow  when  the 
panther  leaped  upon  the  horse  at  the  cam- 
meeting  ground?" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  KIKAPOO 

PT1HE  Indian  wayfarer  called  himself 
JL  the  Kikapoo.  He  was  a  medicine- 
man, and  had  been  to  attend  a  Beggar 
Dance,  which  was  often  followed  by  sick- 
ness, because  the  medicine-men  ate  nothing 
for  days  and  danced  nearly  all  the  time. 

He  stretched  himself  before  the  fire  on 
some  straw  matting.  He  talked  slowly,  as 
if  almost  compelled  to  speak.  He  said: 

"I  have  been  to  persuade  the  Indians  to 
give  up  the  Beggar  Dance,  now  that  the 
Treaty  has  been  made.  That  dance  lowers 
them.  After  it  they  fall  sick." 

"What  is  the  Beggar  Dance?"  asked 
Nancy. 

169 


170         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"The  Indians  dress  in  rags,"  said  he. 
"They  whirl  with  torches  and  cry  out  as  if 
mad.  I  know  now  that  it  is  a  bad  habit. 
It  has  done  the  Indians  no  good.  We  must 
now  live  like  the  white  man." 

Aunt  Betty  saw  that  he  was  a  true  forest 
philosopher. 

"Do  you  think,"  said  Nancy  to  the  Kika- 
poo,  "that  I  might  find  Sarah,  if  I  were  to 
go  all  alone  to  look  for  her?" 

"Who  is  Sarah?"  asked  the  Kikapoo. 

"My  cousin — sister.  Old  Moo-May,  a 
good  Indian  woman,  we  think,  rescued  Sa- 
rah, as  we  hope,  from  a  murdering  Indian 
band  and  then  carried  her  away.  We  think' 
it  was  she  you  met." 

"No,  no,  little  girl,  Moo-May  would  never 
give  her  up.  She  loves  the  girl.  I  could 
see  that.  She  looks  into  her  eyes.  Indians 
love  by  looking  into  the  eyes.  They  see  the 
soul  down  there." 

"But   if   Aunt   Betty— Mother   Betty— 


THE  KIKAPOO  171 

were  to  go  with  me,  would  she  not  give  up 
little  Sarah*?" 

"No,  no,  if  you  and  Mother  Betty  were 
to  find  Moo-May  she  would  never  give  up 
your  sister." 

"But  we  would  persuade  her  to  do  so.  I 
know  the  trails  through  the  blazed  wood." 

"No,  no,  no.  You  two  would  never  find 
Moo-May.  If  she  were  to  see  you  she  would 
vanish.  She  goes  and  looks  into  cabin  win- 
dows nights,  and  the  people  go  out  to  talk 
with  her;  she  is  not  there.  She  vanishes. 
The  ground  swallows  her." 

"But,"  said  Nancy,  "let  me  go  with  you 
— you  are  an  honest  Indian.  I  would  not 
be  afraid  to  follow  you." 

"My  little  girl,  suppose  you  found  Sarah, 
old  Moo-May  would  seize  you  and  run,  and, 
I  am  sorry  to 'say  it  for  your  sake,  I  think 
that  Sarah  had  rather  follow  old  Moo-May 
into  the  wilderness  of  the  great  rivers  than 
go  with  you  back  to  the  clearings." 


1Y2         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"Uncle  Berry  might  go  on  horseback  and 
find  her  at  Miami. " 

"No,  no,  they  would  hide  among  the  corn. 
The  All-Spirit  covers  those  who  hide  among 
the  corn.  The  corn  hears,  it  trembles,  it 
hides." 

"You  are  a  medicine-man,"  said  Nancy. 
"Tell  us  how  we  can  find  Sarah." 

"I  will  teU  you,"  said  the  Kikapoo.  "It 
is  revealed  to  me  by  the  spirit  that  speaks 
within." 

"Tell  us,  tell  us,"  said  Nancy. 

"Find  old  Moo-May,  and  invite  her  to 
come  and  make  her  home  with  you.  Don't 
mention  Sarah.  She  would  follow  her.  Go 
to  Moo-May  and  say  to  her  that  you  feel 
grateful  to  her  for  saving  the  life  of  your 
little  sister,  and  that  you  want  her  to  find 
her  shelter  always  beneath  your  roof.  She 
will  come." 

"That  was  my  own  plan,"  said  Nancy, 
joyfully. 


THE  KIKAPOO  173 

So  the  news  went  about  in  that  colony  of 
cousins,  among  the  Sparrows,  Berrys, 
Mitchells  and  Hankses,  that  the  lost  Sarah 
was  probably  alive,  and  had  been  heard 
from,  through  the  wayfarer. 

In  the  meantime  there  was  often  heard 
in  the  distant  timber,  in  the  late  evening, 
the  cry  of  a  dog,  ending  in  "oi." 

"That  is  the  same  dog,"  said  Mr.  Berry. 

Nancy  would  cease  spinning,  if  the  wheel 
were  not  already  still,  and  go  to  the  door 
and  listen. 

The  moon  would  rise  over  the  high  trees, 
the  great  sea-land  of  the  forest.  As  often 
as  she  heard  the  cry  of  the  dog,  she  would 
say  " Sarah."  But  there  would  be  no  re- 
sponse and  many  nights  would  pass  without 
her  hearing  the  cry. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SARAH  ? 

rilHE  Berrys  with  Nancy  and  Thomas 
_A_  Lincoln  made  a  long  trip  to  Green- 
ville to  be  present  at  the  return  of  the  cap- 
tives according  to  the  promise  of  the  In- 
dians. With  them  were  many  others  in 
search  of  long  lost  ones. 

The  party  after  a  long  journey  came  to  a 
collection  of  huts  which  formed  one  of  the 
many  Miami  villages  where  the  exchange 
was  to  take  place. 

It  was  a  gala  day  when  they  arrived,  a 
corn  dance.  In  mid-summer  there  had  been 
a  " green-corn  dance"  there,  but  this  was  a 
harvest  dance,  and  the  dancers  were  be- 
decked with  sheaves  of  corn.  It  was  all 

175 


176         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

like  an  animated  cornfield.  The  drum 
sounded  and  rude  pipes  were  played,  and  a 
cornfield  rose  up  and  seemed  to  move  about 
in  fantastic  waves.  The  sun  shone  clear 
with  the  Indian  summer  lustre ;  the  crickets 
chirped  in  the  cool  grass.  Although  there 
had  been  recently  a  hostile  time,  content- 
ment and  happiness  filled  the  village. 

Early  the  next  morning,  white  people  hur- 
ried into  the  town  and  many  Indians  came 
to  the  place  of  the  harvest  corn  dance,  bring- 
ing captives  with  them. 

It  was  a  touching  scene  that  occurred  at 
the  high  noon  of  that  day.  Mothers  were 
there  in  search  of  daughters  and  fathers 
looking  for  lost  sons.  Some  of  these  stolen 
children  had  been  absent  from  home  for 
years,  and  their  own  parents  were  hardly 
able  to  recognize  them. 

The  recognitions  were  joyful.  Boys 
rushed  into  their  fathers'  arms,  yet  several 


SARAH?  177 

of  these  boys  seemed  reluctant  to  go  back 
into  civilization. 

Most  of  the  people  who  came  in  search  of 
lost  children  recovered  them.  There  were 
some  exceptions.  One  was  an  aged  widow, 
tall  and  thin,  whose  feeble  limbs  had  scarce- 
ly been  able  to  sustain  the  long  journey. 

She  searched  among  the  returned  captives 
with  distended  eyes. 

"Who  do  you  hope  to  find?"  asked  Moth- 
er Berry  of  the  lone  widow. 

"My  daughter,  my  only  daughter.  She 
is  all  that  I  have  for  my  old  age.  I  would 
be  willing  to  die,  if  I  could  see  her  once 


more.': 


An  Indian  in  paint  and  feathers  ap- 
peared. 

"Good  woman,  your  daughter  has  gone 
to  the  souls  in  the  south"  (heaven)". 

"How  do  you  know?"  said  the  lone  wom- 
an, eagerly. 

"Do  you  see  this  little  girl?    She  is  the 


12 


178        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

daughter  of  your  daughter.  When  your 
daughter  was  dying,  she  said:  'Take  my 
little  one  to  my  mother/  I  have  brought 
her  to  you." 

"How  can  I  know  this?" 

"Lucy—" 

"That  is  my  name,"  said  the  woman. 

"Little  Lucy,  sing  one  of  your  mother *s 
songs. " 

Little  Lucy  sang: 

"When  shall  we  three  meet  again? 
When  shall  we  three  meet  again? 
Oft  shall  glowing  hope  aspire, 
Oft  shall  wearied  love  retire, 
Oft  shall  death  and  sorrow  reign 
Ere  we  three  shall  meet  again. 

' '  Though  in  distant  lands  we  sigh, 
Parched  beneath  a  hostile  sky ; 
Though  the  deep  between  us  rolls, 
Friendship  shall  unite  our  souls 
And  in  fancy's  wide  domain 
There  we  three  shall  meet  again. 


SARAH?  179 

"  When  the  dreams  of  life  are  fled, 
When  its  wasted  lamps  are  dead, 
When  in  cold  oblivion 's  shade, 
Beauty,  health  and  fame  are  laid, 
Where  immortal  spirits  reign, 
There  we  three  shall  meet  again ! ' ' 

The  lone  widow  intently  watched  the  ex- 
pression of  the  girl's  face. 

"I  can  see  it,  I  can  see  it,"  she  cried,  "my 
own  Lucy's  face  is  there,  that  was  my  Lu- 
cy's song.  What  will  I  do?  I  must  not 
take  her  away  from  you." 

"Go  to  your  home,  good  woman,"  said 
the  Indian,  "take  little  Lucy  with  you,  and 
this  right  arm  will  always  provide  for  you 
both." 

But  Sarah?  They  heard  vague  reports 
of  an  elderly  Indian  woman  who  had  been 
seen  wandering  with  a  white  girl — not  a 
"little  girl,"  whispered  the  rumor,  but  a 
"white  girl,"  and  one  of  the  reports  was 
that  the  Indian  woman  seemed  to  be  very 


180        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

fond  of  the  girl,  and  another  report  was 
that  the  white  girl  seemed  to  be  "very  de- 
voted to  her  Indian  mother." 

They  returned  home,  Mother  Berry  and 
Nancy,  a  long,  weary  way.  But  the  woods 
were  in  mid-autumn  splendor,  and  though 
they  had  not  found  Sarah,  the  hope  of  find- 
ing her  made  light  their  hearts. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  RETURN  OP  SARAH 

rwas  a  clear  bright  day  in  the  timber,  the 
leaves  were  coloring,  the  locusts  singing 
at  the  Beechlands. 

A  horn  rang  out  on  the  still  air.  Nancy 
heard  it,  and  ran  to  open  the  door,  and  be- 
held something  that  caused  her  to  cry  out 
in  surprise  and  joy. 

A  man  on  horseback  was  coming  through 
the  timber.  He  carried  a  flag;  on  the  flag- 
staff was  something  that  glittered,  like  an 
old  Roman  emblem  on  a  staff.  Nancy  saw 
that  it  was  an  empty  plate. 

Behind  him  rode  a  girl  on  a  pony;  she 
looked  like  an  Indian  girl.  Was  it  Sarah? 

Behind  them  both  walked  a  bent  Indian 

181 


182        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

woman,  with  a  medicine-man  who  resembled 
the  Kikapoo  who  had  said  that  to  get  Sarah 
back  one  should  offer  the  Indian  woman  a 
home  at  the  cabin  with  Sarah. 

"Aunt  Berry,"  cried  Nancy,  "something 
has  happened — something  great  is  coming, 
come  and  see.  It  is  Sarah!  It  is  Sarah!  I 
feel  that  Sarah  is  coming!" 

Aunt  Berry  came  running  to  the  door. 

"I  do  believe  it  is  Sarah,"  she  said,  "but 
she  is  an  Indian,  or  that  girl  seems  to  be. 
And  that  is  old  Moo-May.  She  is  coming 
to  make  her  home  here  with  us,  for  that 
surely  is  the  Kikapoo,  and  that  was  his  plan 
to  get  Sarah  back." 

She  stood  staring,  and  the  strange  com- 
pany approached.  The  horn  rang  out 
again.  It  seemed  to  be  blown  by  a  soldier 
— a  soldier  of  Wayne. 

"Yes,"  continued  Aunt  Berry,  weeping 
for  joy,  "that  is  a  party  bringing  Sarah 


71 

3 
•f 


m 

I 


THE  RETURN  OF  SARAH  183 

home, — see  the  empty  plate  like  a  military 
standard.  Wayne  has  sent  it." 

The  company  drew  near.  The  horses 
acted  as  if  proud  of  their  commission,  which 
they  seemed  to  understand.  They  bowed 
their  heads  nobly  and  lifted  their  feet  high. 
A  little  wolf-dog  followed  them. 

The  girl  on  the  second  horse  looked  in- 
tently towards  the  cabin. 

"That  can't  be  Sarah,"  said  Aunt  Berry. 
"She  is  feathered." 

Suddenly  the  feathered  girl  leaped  from 
the  pony,  and  came  running  towards  the 
cabin,  with  wide  arms.  Her  head,  indeed, 
was  plumed,  and  she  wore  a  buckskin 
sacque  trimmed  with  feathers  of  bright 
birds  of  the  forest. 

She  called — "It  is  I,"  and  again:  "I  am 
Sarah — Sarah!  I  have  come  to  you  all." 

Then  she  ran  into  the  arms  of  Aunt 
Berry. 

"My  Indian  mother  is  coming  to  live  with 


184        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

me,  when  her  son  returns  from  the  Miami — 
see  she  is  coming ;  she  saved  me ;  she  hid  me 
behind  the  log — she  ran  with  me  through 
hidden  ways.  She  has  been  good  to  me — 
better  to  me  than  to  herself.  The  Kikapoo 
— he  said  you  would  give  my  Indian  mother 
a  home  with  me.  I  am  so  glad — what  kind 
hearts  there  are  in  all  the  world." 

Aunt  Berry  wept  long — then  said:  "This 
is  Nancy  Hanks,  your  cousin;  she  kept  a 
plate  waiting  for  you — and  she  sent  it  away 
and  put  another  in  its  place.  We  have  al- 
ways known  you  would  come  back  to  us." 

Moo-May  came  hobbling  up  to  the  door 
with  a  face  full  of  joy. 

"Greeting,  friends,"  she  said,  though  in 
broken  words  which  we  make  clear.  "When 
the  Kikapoo  brought  me  word  that  you 
would  take  me  to  live  with  Sarah,  I  gave 
her  up — Sarah  lives  in  my  heart,  and  I 
could  not  live  without  Sarah.  I  have  a  son 
that  has  not  returned  from  Fallen  Timbers. 


THE  RETURN  OF  SARAH  185 

I  am  going  back  to  look  for  him,  and  then 
I  am  coming  to  live  with  Sarah  a  part  of 
the  time,  and  she  shall  take  the  place  of  my 
own  little  girl  that  died.  You  will  be  good 
to  me." 

"We  will  always  be  good  to  you,"  said 
Aunt  Berry.  "I  take  folks  to  live  with  me 
that  have  no  home.  I  see  that  you  have 
been  like  a  mother  to  Sarah." 

"I  will  come  to  your  wigwam,  and  she 
will  live,  wherever  I  be,  in  the  wigwam  of 
my  heart." 

The  next  morning  Moo-May  went  away 
to  look  for  her  son. 

She  left  the  door  slowly,  walking  back- 
ward. 

"Sarah,  if  my  son  be  dead,  I  will  come 
again  and  will  always  follow  you,  or  do 
whatever  you  ask  me  to  do.  I  go,  I  go,  but 
my  heart  stays  with  you.  But  I  will  fol- 
low, follow." 

Backward,  backward,  she  walked  till  her 


186        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

withered  form  faded  from  view  in  the  tim- 
ber, saying,  "I  go — I  follow." 

Sarah  and  Nancy  now  became  as  sisters 
to  each  other,  and  as  such  were  known  in  all 
the  cabins.  The  talk  of  the  colony  of  cous- 
ins now  was  of  moving  into  the  heavy  tim- 
ber lands  of  Indiana. 

"If  I  marry  and  go  into  the  timber 
lands,"  said  Sarah  to  Nancy  one  day,  "my 
old  Indian  mother  shall  go  with  me.  She 
knows  the  woods  after  the  way  that  an  ani- 
mal knows  the  woods,  she  has  the  instinct  of 
the  forest,  and  if  you  marry  and  go  to  Indi- 
ana, I  will  tell  old  Moo-May  to  follow  you 
at  a  distance  all  the  way,  and  be  like  an  angel 
to  you,  like  the  angel  of  Hagar  in  the  wil- 
derness. Such  things  do  happen.  Did  you 
hear  what  she  said  in  a  kind  of  soul-voice 
fraught  with  meaning — l  Follow,  I  fol- 
low?' " 

A  month  passed.  Moo-May  did  not  re- 
turn. But  the  Kikapoo  came  back  one  day 


THE  RETURN  OF  SARAH  187 

to  say  that  the  old  Indian  had  found  her 
son  through  his  dog ;  that  the  brave  had  been 
wounded,  and  that  he  could  not  live  long, 
and  that  she  must  stay  by  him  to  the  end. 
She  was  true  to  her  own. 

" Moo-May,  Moo-May,"  said  Sarah  one 
day,  "I  love  her  heart.  I  must  go  to  the 
Miami,  and  visit  her." 

She  did,  and  Nancy  went  with  her,  and 
found  it  as  the  Kikapoo  had  said. 

"He  will  go  to  the  South  Land  (heaven) 
before  the  leaves  fall  again,"  said  the  squaw. 
I  will  cover  him  with  the  blanket  of  new 
leaves,  then  these  old  feet  shall  follow,  fol- 
low, follow  the  wish  of  your  heart,  my  own 
Sarah ;  follow,  follow,  follow  on  to  the  end. 
Then  I  too  will  go  to  the  South  Land,  and 
follow  the  sun.  But  I  follow,  follow  al- 
ways." 

A  kind  of  spiritual  light  shone  in  her 
leathery  face ;  the  light  of  a  great  heart  that 
had  grown. 


188        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"I  will  come  to  you  when  the  winter  is 
cold,"  said  Nancy,  "and  bring  food  to  you, 
and  cheer  you  when  you  are  lonely." 

The  old  Indian  rose  from  her  seat. 

"Is  that  your  heart?  Was  there  ever 
such  ?  You,  you  must  be  like  Sarah.  That 
melts  my  heart — I  will  follow  you,  too." 

The  two  girls  went  back  to  her  cabin  in 
the  winter,  and  the  old  Indian  came  to  love 
Nancy  as  well  as  Sarah.  Nancy  went  to 
her  in  the  spring.  She  found  that  the 
brave,  her  son,  had  just  died — withered 
away.  She  helped  Moo-May  to  bury  him. 
Then  Moo-May  took  her  staff,  and  followed 
Nancy  to  her  home,  to  Aunt  Berry's,  the 
cousin  who  "took  folks  to  live,"  and  in  tak- 
ing Nancy  made  her  life  touch  the  great 
heart  of  the  world's  future,  though  she 
knew  it  not. 

Moo-May  had  a  lithe  bow  and  some  slen- 
der arrows  which  she  carried  on  her  shoul- 
der. The  little  bow  of  sassafras  was  very 


THE  RETURN  OF  SARAH  189 

powerful  and  the  arrows  very  deadly.  She 
could  bring  down  a  panther  with  the  bow 
and  arrows  if  she  could  have  a  clear  aim 
at  him  in  the  tree.  The  same  weapons 
would  cause  an  eagle  to  fall.  But  she 
spared  animals  that  she  did  not  need  for 
food  or  feathers.  She  had  a  heart  to  spare, 
to  heal,  to  lift.  She  seldom  took  an  arrow 
out  of  her  quiver.  She  held  the  beasts  and 
birds  to  be  a  part  of  the  forest. 

Her  little  bow  was  like  magic.  It  was 
so  fashioned  as  to  send  an  arrow  with  great 
force  to  unexpected  heights  and  lengths. 

"If  ever  you  should  be  in  danger,"  she 
used  to  say  to  Nancy,  "trust  to  my  quiver. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  forests  or  in  the 
air  that  can  stand  against  my  arrows — see 
how  they  are  tipped." 

The  arrows  were  tipped  with  some  kind 
of  a  clear,  pearly  stone.  They  were  very 
beautiful,  when  the  sun  shone  upon  them. 
They  were  winged  with  eagles'  feathers. 


190        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

In  her  superstition,  she  seemed  to  believe 
that  a  magic  power  was  in  them. 

Moo-May  went  back  to  the  Miami  after 
following  Nancy  home.  She  wished  to  sing 
the  death  song  with  the  braves  at  the  annual 
feast  for  the  dead ;  for  the  peace  of  the  souls 
of  those  who  had  gone  "to  the  South  Land." 

One  day,  late  in  summer,  her  bent  form, 
followed  by  a  dog,  was  seen  in  the  glinting 
light  of  the  border  of  a  shrub-land  near 
Aunt  Berry's  cabin. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Aunt  Berry  of 
Sarah. 

"It  is  an  old  Indian  squaw  and  her  dog. 
It  is  Moo-May." 

"She  is  withered — she  creeps,"  said  Aunt 
Berry.  "Go  out  and  ask  her  what  we  can 
do  for  her.  Bring  her  to  the  steps." 

Sarah  went  into  the  open. 

The  Indian  woman  lifted  her  hands. 

"Sarah,"  said  she,  "we  have  sung  the 


THE  RETURN  OF  SARAH  191 

death  song.  You  are  the  light  of  my  life, 
the  heart  of  my  heart  now." 

"Come  into  the  house,"  said  Sarah.  "I 
owe  everything  to  you." 

"No,  no — no  come  in.  Trouble  dwells  in 
houses.  I  follow.  I  have  nothing  to  do  but 
follow  now — where  you  go  I  will  follow  you 
— out  of  sight  with  feet  unseen." 

"Mother?"  said  Sarah. 

"Do  you  call  me  that?  Oh,  light  of  my 
life,  heart  of  my  heart,  you  shall  take  Ms 
place,  and  I  will  follow,  follow,  as  the  blue 
swallow  follows  the  sun." 

Sarah  led  her  to  the  log  step  of  the  cabin, 
but  she  would  not  go  into  the  cabin.  She 
lay  down  on  the  step  at  night.  In  the  morn- 
ing she  was  gone. 

A  curious  thing  of  this  wandering  visit 
was  the  dog.  He  held  aloof  from  the  old 
Indian  woman  as  if  waiting  directions.  He 
pressed  hard  on  her  feet.  As  she  lay  down 


192        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

beside  the  log  at  the  door,  which  served  for 
a  step,  Moo-May  said: 

"Him  strange  dog  —  wolf-dog.  "Wolf- 
dog  was  hissen.  The  dog  he  followed  me — 
when  I  was  hiding." 

Sarah  knew  the  meaning  of  the  word 
"hissen."  The  wolf-dog  had  been  owned 
by  her  eldest  son,  who  had  perished  soon 
after  the  battle  at  Fallen  Timber. 

Sarah  brought  a  bone  out  to  the  animal. 
The  wolf-dog  took  it  to  his  mistress  for  per- 
mission to  eat  it. 

"Eat  it,"  said  the  squaw. 

The  dog  seemed  glad  to  do  so.  He  seized 
the  bone  eagerly. 

Nancy  watched  the  curious  animal.  He 
was  nearly  white,  long,  lank,  with  silken 
hair  that  was  like  pale  amber  in  patches. 
His  face  was  wonderfully  intelligent,  his 
eyes  were  large  and  his  nose  long. 

"A  wolf-dog!"  said  Nancy.  "Does  he 
bark?" 


THE  RETURN  OF  SARAH  193 

"He  speaks,"  said  the  old  woman. 
"Here,"  she  said,  "speak." 

The  dog  lifted  up  his  head,  and  uttered  a 
sound  like  the  blowing  of  a  conch  shell.  It 
was  a  peculiar,  penetrating  sound;  a  far- 
away cry — it  seemed  to  catch  the  air. 

"I  have  heard  that  howl  before,"  said 
Aunt  Berry. 

"He  loved  my  young  brave,"  said  the  In- 
dian— "guarded  him,  was  found  by  his 
bones." 

She  swayed  to  and  fro. 

"All  I  had— Fallen  Timber,  Wayne.  I 
found  him  there,  the  wolf-dog — under  the 
timbers,  watching — watching  by  his  wound- 
ed body.  He  knew  me — he  followed  me ;  he 
keeps  me  from  danger.  He  guarded  Sarah. 
My  young  brave's  spirit,  it  follow  him.  No 
harm  can  fall  to  me  while  the  wolf-dog  he 
follow ;  till  I  go  to  the  silent  hunting  ground, 
no  harm  follow  me.  The  panther  hide  in 
the  trees,  no  harm,  no  harm — the  wolf-dog 

13 


194        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

he  tell  me.  The  rattle-snake  coil ;  no  harm, 
no  harm.  He  put  up  his  paw.  The  wolf 
he  howl  when  the  snow  falls  on  the  pines — 
no  harm,  no  harm.  The  wolf-dog  he  an- 
swer him.  When  I  die,  he  will  watch,  and 
he  will  die  watching,  where  I  die.  He 
starve  by  me  watching  when  I  lift  up  my 
hand  no  more,  and  eat  no  more.  He  keep 
away  the  lynx  and  the  hawk  and  the  car- 
rion crow.  He  have  the  heart  of  the  Great 
Spirit.  I  fear  nothing.  My  boy,  he  fol- 
low him,  when  the  Great  Spirit  he  spreads 
out  the  sky  and  lights  the  candles  of  the 
stars.  I  follow  you,  he  follow  me,  and  the 
still  feet  of  my  own  follow  him,  and  the 
Light  of  the  stars  he  follow  all." 

The  dog  stretched  himself  close  beside 
her,  and  found  a  bed  in  the  rags  of  her 
clothes. 

"Was  he  a  wolf  once?"  asked  Nancy. 

"Yes,  yes,  a  wolf  once.  We  all  were.  A 
wolf  that  becomes  a  dog  is  a  good  dog  to 


THE  RETURN  OF  SARAH  195 

have;  lie  knows  the  forest — he  knows  what 
we  cannot  know.  Slyly  I  call  him, — he 
knows  what  I  cannot  know, — and  I  know 
what  you  cannot  know,  and  the  Great  Spirit 
he  knows  all.  I  saved  Sarah ;  we  love  those 
we  save  as  much  as  those  who  save  us  love 
us.  Anyone  is  safe  that  I  follow  with  un- 
seen feet ;  no  harm  in  the  forest  can  happen 
to  him.  We  follow  you." 

"Or  my  sister,  if  I  direct  you?"  asked 
Nancy. 

"Yes,  your  will  is  mine." 

"Or  my  brother?"  (cousin). 

"Yes,  only  you  say  so." 

"Or  this  little  girl  or  boy?"  referring  to 
her  aunt's  children. 

"Yes,  boy.  I  had  a  boy.  Where  is  he 
now?  Ask  the  Fallen  Timbers.  I  had  kin. 
Where  are  they  now  ?  Ask  the  Fallen  Tim- 
bers. I  had  a  tribe.  Where  is  it  now  ?  Ask 
the  Fallen  Timbers.  The  war  whoop  rang 
out — where  is  it  now  ?  Ask  the  Fallen  Tim- 


196         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

bers.    I  wander.    Nothing  is  left  for  me  but 

the  wolf-dog,  and  the  tents  of  the  dead." 
She  added,  holding  up  her  hand: 
"I  and  the  wolf-dog  have  followed  yon 

at  most  times  since  you  first  heard  his  voice 

crying  out  in  the  Wilderness  I" 


CHAPTER  XX 

SARAH'S  STORIES  OF  THE  DEEP  FORESTS 

NANCY  was  happy  now.  She  found  in 
Sarah  just  the  sister  that  she  had  im- 
agined she  would  find,  and  it  was  her  de- 
light to  teach  her  how  to  spin  and  how  to 
sing  the  camp-meeting  songs  and  wood  songs 
that  she  herself  had  learned. 

The  two  had  one  heart;  they  loved  the 
birds  and  little  animals  together,  and  Sarah 
told  little  Nancy  stories  of  the  wonderful 
things  that  the  little  dog  had  done  in  the 
deep  woods. 

They  were  inseparable.  New  houses  or 
cabins  were  rising,  and  the  house  raisings 
were  the  notable  events  in  the  woods.  The 
people  invited  Sarah  and  Nancy  to  them, 

197 


198         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

and  the  Indian  and  the  dog  would  follow 
them  when  they  went  to  such  gatherings  of 
these  backwoods  people.  The  girls  would 
sing  the  backwoods  songs,  and  Nancy  be- 
came the  favorite  of  all  the  country  round. 

It  was  the  delight  of  Nancy  to  hear  Sarah 
tell  stories  of  her  life  in  the  woods,  after  she 
became  a  captive. 

The  two  girls  would  sit  down  together 
interlocking  arms  before  the  door  of  the 
cabin.  Peidy  would  come  up  from  the  wood 
meadows  and  stand  beside  them,  and  the  lit- 
tle wolf-dog  lie  down  near  them,  at  the  feet 
of  the  Indian  woman,  who  seemed  happy 
and  contented  in  her  new  surroundings. 

Thomas  Lincoln  would  sometimes  be 
present,  and  add  queer  words  to  her  narra- 
tives, punctuating  it  as  it  were  with  his  own 
native  art. 

She  would  tell  tales  of  the  squaw,  or  her 
Indian  mother,  as  she  acted  her  protector  in 


SARAH'S  STORY  OF  THE  FORESTS         199 

the  salt  licks  and  among  the  ponds  of  the 
wild  geese. 

"You  should  have  heard  me  cry  out  on 
the  brinks  of  the  ponds.  Then  the  whole 
pond  would  arise  on  white  wings,  and  the  air 
would  be  filled  with  honkings,  and  the  place 
would  grow  dark  with  the  flocks.  I  liked  to 
cause  the  geese  to  rise  in  this  way,  and  to 
startle  the  deer  that  came  to  the  licks. 

"I  once  went  out  to  play  with  the  deer  by 
making  them  run,  when  a  stag  turned  upon 
me,  and  came  toward  me,  lowering  Ms  horns. 
Then  my  mother  rose  up  and  motioned  him 
away.  He  moved  back,  but  a  fawn  came 
toward  him  for  protection  and  the  little 
wolf-dog  barked  at  the  fawn.  The  deer 
seemed  to  feel  that  he  must  protect  the  little 
fawn,  and  rushed  back  again,  and  threatened 
to  lift  me  on  his  horns.  He  must  protect 
the  fawn  and  mother  must  shield  me,  and 
the  deer  and  mother  stood  facing  each  other, 


200         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

each  having  one  purpose  in  his  and  her 
hearts. 

"  Suddenly  there  was  a  tearing  sound  in 
the  thickets.  A  black  buffalo  came  plunging 
through  them.  The  deer  and  the  fawn 
turned  to  run,  and  my  mother  seized  me  by 
the  hand  and  found  shelter  behind  the  trees. 
The  buffalo  tore  on  and  passed  out  of  sight. 
Then  the  deer  stopped  and  looked  back  to 
mother,  and  mother  looked  at  her.  The  deer 
had  protected  the  fawn,  and  mother  had 
done  the  same  by  me.  Mother  looked  at  the 
fawn  and  the  fawn  looked  at  mother.  The 
deer  seemed  to  understand  that  he  and 
mother  had  done  the  same  thing,  and  the 
deer  walked  slowly  by  us,  followed  by  the 
fawn,  with  something  in  her  eye  that  said: 
'You  will  not  harm  me  now.' 

"I  shall  never  forget  that  look  in  the 
deer's  eyes.  It  was  just  like  a  look  out  of  a 
human  heart. 

"  Mother  looked  friendly  towards  the  deer 


SARAH'S  STORY  OF  THE  FORESTS         201 

as  he  passed.  They  parted  friends,  and  even 
the  little  wolf-dog  ceased  to  bark. 

"I  had  delightful  times  some  days  playing 
with  the  animals.  I  learned  how  to  attract 
them  towards  me  and  to  play  with  them. 
Mother  had  a  whistle  by  which  she  called 
the  birds  to  her,  and  it  made  her  happy  to 
have  a  bird  come  to  her  and  to  please  me. 

"The  blue  jay  was  her  bird  in  the  woods. 
It  would  stop  and  lift  its  crown  of  feathers 
when  it  heard  her  whistle.  Then  mother 
would  whistle  again  and  the  bird  would 
drop  nearer  on  the  boughs  and  make  a  sound 
like  the  turning  of  a  small  crank. 

"The  little  whistling  quail  would  venture 
near  us,  and  once  we  saw  a  white  partridge. 

"We  were  always  happy  on  the  sunny 
days  in  the  woods. 

"On  rainy  days  we  would  seek  shelter  in 
the  rocks  and  watch  the  beavers  do  their  car- 
pentry work.  The  little  rabbits  would  frisk 
around  us,  and  I  sometimes  would  play  still 


202        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

and  catch  one  by  his  little  bobbing  tail  and 
let  him  go  again. 

"We  had  happy  hours  in  the  woods,  an'd 
mother  was  always  faithful  to  me  and  used 
to  croon  when  I  laid  my  head  on  her  breast. 
There  is  a  friendship  to  be  found  in  the 
woods  that  only  a  few  can  know.  My  Indian 
mother  loved  the  animals,  and  that  I  think 
was  one  of  the  reasons  that  she  so  loved  me. 

"The  old  women,"  said  Sarah,  "would 
make  journeys  to  the  Indian  cornfields  when 
they  would  go  apart  to  the  Indian  mills  on 
the  rocks  and  have  a  feast.  As  they  began 
to  pound  the  corn  the  little  chipmunks 
would  gather  around  them,  and  sometimes 
venture  to  their  laps  and  perch  upon  their 
shoulders,  eating  the  corn  they  had  stolen, 
and  putting  up  their  paws  while  doing  this, 
like  little  hands.  Some  of  the  chipmunks, 
or  striped  or  ground  squirrels,  as  they  some- 
times were  called,  could  fill  their  pouched 


SARAH'S  STORY  OF  THE  FORESTS         203 

mouths  full  of  corn  and  run  away  to  hide  it 
for  future  use. 

"One  day  Moo-May  saw  a  little  chipmunk 
hiding  corn  under  a  rock. 

"  ' There  is  a  wonder,'  she  said. 

"  '  What  is  it  that  is  a  wonder  V I  asked. 

"  'Who  taught  that  young  squirrel  to  hide 
the  corn?  Not  its  mother;  it  is  not  a  year 
old/ 

"  'The  knowledge  was  born  in  him/  said 
the  Indian,  and  then  she  crooned  an  ancient 
song  of  gratitude  that  all  things  were  or- 
dered so  wisely. 

"Once  a  rattlesnake  was  seen  in  the  sunny 
entrance  to  the  cave.  It  coiled  as  if  to  spring 
and  bite. 

"  'Let  your  anger  burn  hot  now,1  said 
Moo-May.  'We  have  anger  just  the  same, 
and  it  is  poison ;  it  will  one  day  destroy  our 
race,  I  fear,  but  I  will  fix  you.' 

"She  took  from  her  pouch  a  small  quid 
of  tobacco  and  put  it  upon  the  end  of  a  stick. 


204        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

The  snake  prepared  to  spring  when  she 
dropped  the  quid  from  the  end  of  the  stick 
into  its  mouth.  It  never  sprang.  It  un- 
coiled and  died." 

The  little  wolf-dog  was  indeed  a  very 
beautiful  creature.  It  did  not  belong  to  the 
grey  and  gaunt  timber  wolves ;  it  was  nearly 
white  like  the  wolves  of  the  head-waters  of 
the  Missouri,  and  had  a  certain  brightness 
and  alertness  like  those  wolves  which  often 
were  made  favorites  of  the  Indian  women 
who  captured  them  when  young. 

A  young  wolf  may  be  easily  trained,  and 
when  so  it  becomes  greatly  attached  to  its 
master  or  mistress.  But  the  white  wolf 
which  is  found  on  the  Missouri  River  and 
which  possibly  came  to  inhabit  those  regions 
by  migrating  from  the  snow  regions  of  the 
north,  is  particularly  intelligent  and  beau- 
tiful. This  young  wolf,  in  addition  to  his 
fleecy  fur,  had  a  bushy  tail  and,  instead  of 
the  sneaking  look  of  the  common  timber 


SARAH'S  STORY  OF  THE  FORESTS        205 

wolf,  carried  his  head  like  a  red  fox,  with  a 
winning  look  of  animal  intelligence.  Those 
who  saw  him  called  him  the  white  wolf-dog, 
although  the  little  animal  was  not  wholly 
white,  but  had  an  amber  or  grayish  back ;  it 
had  a  winsome  and  attractive  manner,  which 
was  quite  unusual  to  the  wolf  tribe.  Its  cry 
was  also  peculiar.  It  was  pitiable,  solitary, 
and  seemed  to  plead  for  something  that  it 
could  not  find. 

" There  is  something  in  that  wolf's  cry 
that  goes  to  my  heart,"  said  Mrs.  Berry  to 
Nancy.  "I  could  trust  that  little  creature 
if  I  had  him ;  he  would  not  run  away.  That 
is  saying  much  of  a  wolf." 

Let  us  tell  you  some  of  the  stories  of  those 
days  of  charm  in  the  Kentucky  wilderness, 
such  stories  as  these  young  people  delighted 
to  tell. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  CAPTIVE  DAUGHTER 

THOMAS  LINCOLN'S  ancestors,  as  we 
have  told  you,  were  acquaintances  and 
friends  of  Daniel  Boone,  the  pioneer  of  Ken- 
tucky. They  were  most  of  them  natural 
story-tellers,  and  Thomas  Lincoln  inherited 
their  love  of  heroic  lore,  and  liked  to  relate 
the  old  Kentucky  stories. 

Now  that  Sarah  had  returned,  there  was 
one  story  that  he  particularly  liked  to  tell, 
reclining  on  the  grass,  with  Peidy  in  hear- 
ing, if  not  quite  understanding  him,  and  the 
frisky  little  dog  leaping  up  in  astonishment 
when  he  waved  aloft  his  sprightly,  horny 
hands. 

It  was  a  midsummer  evening  before  the 

door  at  Beechlands. 

207 


208        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"I  can  tell  you  a  story,  now,  I  can,"  said 
Thomas,  "that  is  even  almost  equal  to  your 
own.  Sit  down,  girls,  and  hold  each  other's 
hands  tight,  and,  Peidy,  chew  your  cud,  and, 
little  dog  of  the  bad  ancestry,  you  prepare 
to  punctuate  my  story  by  bobbing  your  tail 
and  saying  'yip,  yip!'  when  I  get  excited. 

"Well,  are  your  ears  all  hollow  now? 
Daniel  Boone  had  a  daughter,  a  girl  about 
Sarah's  age.  On  the  7th  of  July,  1776,  just 
after  Independence  Day,  she  and  two  other 
girls  went  out  on  the  river  near  Boonesboro, 
and  got  into  a  canoe  to  amuse  themselves. 
They  were  having  a  lovely  time  when  they 
saw  the  bushes  stir,  and  then — now,  little 
dog,  it 's  time  for  you  to  jump  and  put  in  an 
exclamation  point — and  then  there  appeared 
a  painted  face  in  the  bushes,  and  a  red  hand 
reached  out  towards  them,  and  made  a  mo- 
tion of  silence. 

The  girls  were  too  frightened  to  make  a 
noise.  They  hugged  each  other  in  terror. 


THE  CAPTIVE  DAUGHTER  209 

"The  red  hand  beckoned.  They  stopped 
the  boat,  the  Indian  leaped  on  board,  and 
paddled  them  to  the  opposite  shore.  There 
he  met  with  a  number  of  comrades  who  had 
been  watching  and  waiting. 

"The  red  savage,  with  a  tomahawk 
grasped  in  his  hand,  pointed  out  to  the  girls 
that  they  must  follow  the  band  of  Indians. 

"The  girls  wept  and  their  hearts  almost 
stood  still.  They  came  to  a  buffalo  path, 
and  came  to  a  canebrake,  where  the  Indians 
had  to  hide  their  tracks  by  separating. 

"Night  came  to  Boonesboro.  The  three 
girls  did  not  return.  Their  parents  went  out 
to  look  for  them,  and  found  the  boat  gone. 

"  'They  have  been  carried  away  by  the 
Indians,'  said  Daniel  Boone.  ' We  must  find 
them,  and  turn  those  who  captured  them  into 
the  dust.' 

"He  enlisted  eight  men  for  the  expedi- 
tion, and  they  started  off  at  daylight.  They 
tracked  the  Indians  to  the  cane. 

14 


210        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"Boone  was  skilled  in  woodcraft.  He  un- 
derstood why  it  was  that  the  Indians  had 
separated,  but  he  noticed  that  all  the  feet 
were  turned  in  one  direction  and  he  made  a 
detour  of  some  thirty  miles  and  came  upon 
the  trail  over  which  the  Indians  with  their 
captives  were  now  passing  with  unsuspect- 
ing feet. 

"  'We  must  go  cautiously  now/  said 
Boone,  'or  we  shall  bring  danger  upon  the 
captives.  Still!  Still!  we  will  need  only 
eyes,  and  the  stealth  of  the  panther.  Still, 
still !' 

"They  passed  on  with  great  caution,  and 
presently  saw  the  Indians  in  the  distance, 
preparing  to  encamp.  The  girls  were  with 
them. 

"  'We  must  approach  so  near  unseen  that 
we  can  fall  upon  them  so  suddenly  that  they 
cannot  harm  the  little  girls.  Approach  un- 
der the  cover  of  the  thickets,  close  in  on 


THE  CAPTIVE  DAUGHTER  211 

them,  then  fire  and  seize  the  girls  while  the 
red-skins  run.' 

1  'The  Indians  were  preparing  the  evening 
meal.  They  were  happy  and  capered  about. 

" Flash,  bang! 

"  ' Charge!'  shouted  Boone. 

"The  eight  men  charged  upon  the  aston- 
ished Indians,  whose  feet  flew  as  though 
they  had  wings. 

"Boone  seized  his  little  daughter  and  bore 
her  away.  His  comrades  led  away  the  other 
captives.  The  Indians  flew  from  the  assail- 
ants, and  Boone  prudently  rushed  away 
from  them.  Both  parties  were  glad  to  say 
good-by.  And  when  they  got  back  home  the 
fame  of  Boone  was  greater  than  ever. 

"Sarah,"  he  concluded,  "the  case  was  like 
your  own,  but  you  did  not  come  back  in  ex- 
actly this  way.  You  were  a  captive,  but  the 
true  heart  of  Moo-May  was  always  yours, 
and  always  beat  true  to  you,  didn't  it,  wolf- 
dog?" 


212        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

And  the  little  wolf-dog  danced  up  and 
down  and  sideways,  and  cried  out  "Yip, 
yip!"  which  in  his  own  language  signified 
"Yes,  yes/' 

It  was  now  Sarah's  turn  to  relate  one  of 
the  stories  of  those  years  in  the  woods  with 
Moo-May. 

"We  used  to  go  berrying  in  midsummer," 
said  she,  "and,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to 
you,  and  to  me  now,  we  found  bears  in  the 
berry  pastures,  and  we  did  not  fear  them. 
They  berried  standing  up.  They  looked  like 
men  in  fur  coats.  My  Indian  mother  never 
feared  bears  in  the  hot  season,  and  when  it 
began  to  cool  and  the  wild  grapes  followed 
the  blueberries,  she  had  only  to  look  a  bear 
in  the  eye  to  cause  him  to  move  away  from 
us. 

"One  midsummer  day  we  were  out  berry- 
ing in  the  open.  I  discovered  a  large  hillock 
of  blueberries,  and  the  berries  were  large 
and  luscious.  I  was  filling  my  basket  eager- 


THE  CAPTIVE  DAUGHTER  213 

ly,  for  we  were  gathering  berries  in  large 
quantities  to  dry  on  the  rocks,  when  I  heard 
a  rustling  in  the  bushes  and  saw  a  huge 
brown  bear  before  me  gathering  berries.  He 
did  not  heed  me,  nor  I  him.  We  were  get- 
ting along  well  together,  for  there  were  ber- 
ries enough  for  us  both,  when  some  drops  of 
rain  began  to  fall  which  turned  me  towards 
a  cavern  in  some  rocks.  The  bear  did  not 
heed  the  rain.  But  the  clouds  hung  low,  and 
soon  overcast  the  sun,  and  a  long  pealing 
thunder  rolled  along  the  earth  from  out  a 
low  cloud. 

"I  hastened  into  the  cavern  where  Moo- 
May  was  at  work. 

"A  terrific  peal  of  thunder  seemed  to 
plough  up  the  earth.  The  lightning  that  fol- 
lowed was  blinding.  I  heard  a  noise  behind 
me,  and  saw  the  bear  following  me  as  if  for 
protection.  He  hurried  after  me  into  the 
cave. 

"  Another  roll  of  thunder  followed  which 


214        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

shook  the  very  rock,  and  a  high  tree  near  by 
was  struck  by  the  lightning.  This  terrified 
the  bear  more  than  before,  and  he  hugged 
my  steps,  panting  like  a  dog. 

"  ' Don't  be  scared  at  the  bear,  Sarah, 'said 
Moo-May,  'he  won't  hurt  you,  and  take 
heart,  child,  the  cloud  is  lifting.' 

"I  threw  myself  at  the  feet  of  Moo-May 
in  terror  of  the  storm,  not  of  the  bear,  and 
the  bear  dropped  down  at  a  little  distance 
from  each  of  us,  and  hung  out  his  tongue, 
panting. 

"  Suddenly  the  cloud  broke  into  dark 
masses.  The  sun  came  out,  the  wet  bushes 
glistened. 

"The  bear  rose  up.  Moo-May  bent  her 
eye  upon  him,  and  he  moved  out  of  the  cav- 
ern towards  the  wet  bushes.  He  looked  con- 
tented, as  he  swaggered  along.  He  evident- 
ly regarded  us  as  benefactors  who  had  saved 
him.  I  presently  followed  him  back  to  the 
bushes,  and  towards  nightfall,  when  I  had 


THE  CAPTIVE  DAUGHTER  215 

filled  my  basket  with  berries,  I  returned  to 
the  cavern  in  the  rocks  and  left  the  brown 
bear  still  picking  berries.  In  the  morning 
he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  I  shall  never 
forget  that  day  in  the  woods." 

Sarah  liked  to  recall  those  days  when  all 
nature  and  even  the  bears  seemed  friendly, 
when  she  passed  her  hours,  as  it  were,  under 
the  friendly  sun,  and  looked  for  the  white 
partridge  and  the  blackbird  which  her  In- 
dian mother  said  were  good  signs.  The 
story-telling  on  the  evenings  that  followed 
her  rescue  was  a  delight.  She  and  Nancy 
learned  the  famous  camp-meeting  songs  to- 
gether, and  when  they  went  to  these  meet- 
ings they  made  the  woody  ways  or  the  camp- 
meeting  grounds  ring  with  their  lively 
voices. 

There  was  a  charm  about  this  rude  life. 
The  spirit  of  nature  was  in  it.  The  sun 
seemed  a  part  of  it,  the  clouds,  the  tempest, 
the  falling  snow.  The  birds  and  little  ani- 


216         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

mals,  the  flowers  and  great  trees  all  seemed 
a  part  of  it,  and  they  too  a  part  of  the  living 
universe. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WAYNE  COMES  BACK 

GREAT  news! 
" Hurrah,"  cried  Thomas. 

"Let  the  woods  ring,"  said  Nancy. 

"Yes,  you  shall  make  the  woods  ring." 

Wayne  was  coming  back — he  was  to 
march  with  a  part  of  his  army,  not  ten  miles 
from  Beechlands.  He  was  to  receive  a  wel- 
come there.  It  was  to  be  given  to  him  in 
honor  of  the  great  events  of  the  Fourth  of 
July.  The  flag  was  to  be  raised  and  every- 
one was  to  have  a  jollification. 

"I  can  seem  to  feel  the  country  growing, 
since  Sarah  came  back,"  said  Nancy.  "I 
wish  I  could  only  do  something  for  my  coun- 
try." 

217 


218         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"  There  is  one  thing  that  you  and  Sarah 
can  do,"  said  Thomas. 

" And  what  is  that?" 

"You  can  sing.  We  can  send  the  flag  up 
into  the  blue  air  of  Kentucky  so  that  it  may 
shine  above  the  tree  tops,  and  when  Wayne 
approaches,  you  and  Sarah  can  sing.  I  can 
feel  the  country  growing.  The  Middle  West 
is  won  to  the  flag;  the  vast  mountain  and 
river  land  from  the  Missouri  to  the  Pacific 
is  won  to  the  flag.  Sing  it,  Nancy ;  sing  it, 
Sarah!" 

"And  what  shall  we  sing?" 

"Sing  See,  the  conquering  hero  comes!" 

"Will  they  let  us?" 

"Yes,  yes.  All  the  country  around  de- 
lights to  hear  you  sing.  Think  of  how  they 
have  welcomed  you  at  the  camp-meeting." 

It  was  a  glorious  autumn  day.  The  flag 
was  lifted  into  the  blue  air. 

Wayne  approached  in  the  glimmering  dis- 
tance. The  migrating  birds  were  chipper- 


WAYNE  COMES  BACK  219 

ing  in  the  forest.    A  thousand  people  had 
gathered  there. 

The  two  girls  came  forward  on  the  plat- 
form, and  Nancy,  a  Jenny  Lind  of  the  for- 
est, pealed  forth  the  song  of  the  Maccabean 
heroes : 

"See,  the  conquering  hero  comes, 
Sound  the  trumpet ;  beat  the  drums ! ' ' 

Men  wept,  horses  pranced  and  neighed. 
Then  an  old  Kentucky  pastor  said : 

"Let  us  bow  in  prayer  and  invoke  the  di- 
vine blessing  on  the  growing  country.  It 
has  now  grown  from  the  Ohio  to  the  Mis- 
souri and  from  the  Missouri  to  the  sea!" 

"Let  us  kneel,"  said  Nancy  to  Sarah.  "I 
can  feel  my  country  growing,  my  country, 
O  my  dear  country!" 

The  pastor  knelt  in  prayer. 

The  very  leaves  on  the  boughs  seemed  to 
listen  while  he  prayed. 

And  Wayne — Mad  Anthony — knelt  with 


220        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

the  rest.  He,  too,  could  feel  the  story  of  the 
" growing"  country.  Was  he  not  master  of 
the  country  by  the  peace-treaty  ? 

It  was  a  glorious  day  under  the  trees.  The 
leaves  fell  about  the  multitude  like  showers 
of  golden  flakes.  It  was  at  the  parting  of 
savagery  and  civilization. 

Wayne  returned  to  Pennsylvania,  and  was 
thus  hailed  as  a  hero.  Guns  boomed  and 
rockets  flared  to  welcome  him.  Festal  tables 
were  spread  for  him,  amid  triumphant  mu- 
sic and  ringing  of  bells.  He  died  at  Presque 
Isle  (Erie)  in  December,  1796. 

And  here  we  must  say  good-bye  to  little 
Nancy  Hanks,  already  budding  into  woman- 
hood. Hereafter  it  is  Nancy  the  woman 
grown  of  whom  we  have  to  tell.  For  some 
years  she  lived  at  Beechlands  and  became 
more  and  more  popular  with  everyone  for 
her  sunny  disposition,  her  sweet  voice  and 
her  loving  nature.  She  and  Thomas  Lincoln 
grew  to  be  better  friends,  and  in  due  time 


WAYNE  COMES  BACK  221 

they  became  engaged.  Neither  was  rich  in 
the  modern  sense,  but  in  those  days  people 
thought  less  of  property  than  of  each  other. 
In  later  years  it  was  frequently  said  that 
Thomas  was  lazy  and  a  poor  choice  for  such 
a  bright  girl  as  Nancy.  We  now  know  that 
Thomas  was  a  decent,  sober  man,  though  he 
never  had  the  faculty  of  making  great  head- 
way in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S  MOTHER 

THOMAS  LINCOLN  married  Nancy 
Hanks  in  1806.  The  marriage  took 
place  at  the  home  of  Richard  Berry,  near 
Beechlands. 

"The  cabin  in  which  Nancy  and  Thomas 
were  married  still  stands  in  Beechlands, 
near  Springfield.  One  of  their  old  neigh- 
bors once  said:  'It  was  a  large  house  for 
those  days,  when  men  slept  with  their  guns 
under  their  pillows.  It  was  twice  as  large 
as  the  meeting  house.1 

"The  marriage  was  fixed  in  the  memory 
of  the  old  inhabitants  by  a  grand  inf  are. 

"Christopher  Columbus  Graham  wrote  of 
this  celebration: 

223 


224        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"  'I  came  to  the  Lincoln-Hanks  wedding 
in  1806.  Eev.  or  Judge  Jesse  Head  was  one 
of  the  most  prominent  men  there,  as  he  was 
able  to  own  slaves,  but  did  not  on  princi- 
ple/ " 

It  was  celebrated  in  the  boisterous  style 
of  one  hundred  years  ago,  and  was  followed 
by  an  infare  given  by  the  bride's  guardian. 
To  this  celebration  came  all  the  neighbors, 
and  even  those  who  happened  in  the  neigh- 
borhood were  made  welcome.  There  was 
bear  meat ;  venison ;  wild  turkey  and  ducks ; 
eggs,  wild  and  tame,  so  common  that  you 
could  buy  them  at  two  bits  a  bushel ;  maple 
syrup  in  big  gourds;  peach  and  honey;  a 
sheep  that  the  two  families  barbecued  whole 
over  coals  of  wood  burned  in  a  pit,  and  cov- 
ered with  green  boughs  to  keep  the  juice  in. 

Thomas  had  little  or  no  education;  he 
probably  did  not  know  how  to  spell.  She 
had  a  fair  education  and  was  ambitious. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S  MOTHER  225 

Three  years  afterward  Abraham  was  born 
to  them. 

She  formed  a  home  school  which  included 
her  rugged  husband  and  little  Abraham,  des- 
tined to  be  the  illustrious  president.  The 
boy  was  facing  the  future  of  a  great  coun- 
try. What  might  not  that  future  be  ?  Nan- 
cy had  already  sent  her  little  daughter,  who 
was  her  eldest  child,  to  a  neighborhood 
school ;  and  the  latter  took  her  little  brother 
with  her. 

Abraham  was  a  restless  and  inquisitive 
boy  at  school,  but  birches  of  the  right  size 
and  quality  were  plentiful,  and  his  teacher 
did  not  use  them  sparingly. 

Nancy  took  up  the  work  of  her  husband's 
education  in  her  home  and  taught  him  all  she 
knew,  and  Abraham  as  much  as  she  could  of 
what  she  wished  him  to  know.  She  helped 
Thomas  to  spell  his  Bible  through.  He 
knew  less  of  the  ocean  than  of  the  sky,  less 
of  the  great  men  of  the  world  than  of  Little 

15 


226         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

Turtle.-  Abraham  was  a  sad  boy  most  of  the 
time,  though  he  liked  fun  occasionally.  He 
loved  his  mother's  voice.  That  was  a  mem- 
ory that  entered  into  his  soul.  Her  evening 
hymns,  how  they  interpreted  to  him  the 
great  mysteries  that  he  did  not  understand ! 
Here  is  one  of  the  hymns  of  the  Wilder- 
ness, of  Wayne's  times,  that  Nancy  may 
have  sung,  or  hymns  like  it : 

1 '  The  day  is  past  and  gone, 

The  evening  shades  appear, 
Oh,  may  we  all  remember  well 

The  night  of  death  draws  near. 

"And  when  our  days  are  passed, 

And  we  from  time  remove, 
Oh,  may  we  in  thy  bosom  rest, 

The  bosom  of  thy  love." 

Abraham  said  after  he  became  president 
that  he  owed  everything  he  had  achieved  to 
his  angel  mother.  And  indeed  she  was  be- 
loved by  everyone. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S  MOTHER  227 

Was  anyone  in  the  great  neighborhood 
sick, — Nancy  went  there.  Was  anyone  in 
need  of  anything, — there  went  her  heart,  her 
hand  and  feet.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman 
in  form  and  face, — beautiful  in  every  way. 

She  loved  to  make  Thomas  and  Abraham 
happy,  and  so  was  happy  herself,  realizing 
that  to  live  for  others'  welfare  is  to  secure 
one's  own. 

Did  she  ever  dream  that  Abraham — her 
little  Abraham — would  be  named  with  Peri- 
cles, the  Gracchi,  Alfred  the  Great,  Simon 
de  Montfort,  Hampden,  Washington,  and 
the  other  great  and  illustrious  of  the  earth  ? 
That  her  good  heart  would  live  in  his,  and 
that  the  world  would  beat  to  it,  and  that 
when  he  should  die,  the  inmates  of  palaces 
should  weep,  and  that  the  emancipated  race 
would  make  him  their  watchword  and  ideal  $ 

Sing  on,  gentle  Nancy,  in  the  shadows  of 
the  ancient  trees  that  shine  in  the  sun.  It 
is  the  hearts  of  mothers  that  make  men,  and 


228         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

those  who  sympathize  most  with  mankind 
live  the  longest  in  human  memory.  The  vic- 
tors for  whom  pyramids  arose  are  forgotten, 
but  the  heart  of  thy  son,  who  bore  to  the 
world  the  heart,  will  outlive  the  builders  of 
pyramids  and  the  pyramids  themselves. 
Sympathy  lives  longest  of  anything  on 
earth,  and  he  who  gives  the  most  of  love  to 
men  receives  the  most  from  God. 

Thomas  Lincoln,  who  had  been  left  poor 
by  his  rich  father,  on  account  of  the  law 
which  gave  the  eldest  son,  Mordecai,  the 
family  estate,  made  a  poor  living  as  a  car- 
penter because  so  few  needed  his  services. 
He  resolved  to  go  out  into  the  wide  world  of 
the  Wilderness,  and  seek  his  fortune,  and 
make  his  lovely  wife  happy. 

Their  little  girl  was  now  dead  and  was 
buried  under  the  trees  near  the  house. 
Thomas  decided  to  emigrate  to  Indiana,  to 
take  up  land,  and  it  nearly  broke  his  young 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S  MOTHER  229 

wife's  heart  to  think  of  going  away  and  leav- 
ing that  little  grave. 

"It  is  all  best  for  us  that  we  go,  Nancy/* 
said  Thomas.  "  It  is  a  beautiful  place  where 
we  are  going  to  live;  nature  has  done  so 
much  for  it  that  it  makes  the  birds  sing 
lovely  there.  It  is  all  for  the  best  that  we 
go." 

"But,  Thomas,  the  grave  of  our  first  born 
under  the  trees'?  How  can  I  leave  that?" 

"Your  heart  cannot  leave  it,  Nancy,  nor 
mine,  but  it  will  be  better  for  our  boy  Abra- 
ham that  we  go.  We  ought  to  do  that  which 
will  be  best  for  our  children.  That  was  why 
the  Pilgrim  Fathers  crossed  the  seas — to 
make  a  better  home  for  their  children. " 

"I  will  go,  Thomas.  I  would  walk  all  the 
way  beside  the  team  for  Abraham's  sake, 
but  Sarah,  my  cousin  Sarah,  she  has  been  a 
sister  to  me." 

"We  must  give  up  all,  relatives,  friends, 


230        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

all,  and  seek  to  better  our  lives  for  Abra- 
ham's sake." 

"Try  your  fortune  here  once  more,  before 
we  leave  all,"  said  Nancy.  "That  little 
grave !  That  little  grave ! ' ' 

"Well,  I  will,  Nancy.  You  know  that  I 
have  ideas.  Now  one  of  these  is  that  if  a 
flat-boat  were  to  be  built  narrow,  it  would 
make  a  better  market  boat.  I  am  going  to 
build  such  a  boat  and  venture  on  it  to  New 
Orleans." 

He  built  the  boat.  His  neighbors  laughed 
at  him  while  he  was  building  the  queer-look- 
ing craft. 

"It  will  tip  over,  neighbor  Lincoln,"  said 
they. 

"No,  it  will  run  its  nose  through  the  snags 
like  a  crane's  bill."  But  he  forgot  ballast. 

He  loaded  his  narrow  boat  with  provisions 
of  beef,  deer,  and  buffalo,  with  piles  of  furs, 
coon  skins,  and  gentian  root.  It  was  a  fa- 
mous load,  but  he  had  forgotten  the  ballast. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S  MOTHER  231 

"And  do  you  really  expect  fo  drive  that 
craft  down  to  New  Orleans?"  asked  his 
neighbors. 

"You  will  be  wiser  when  I  come  back. 
Don't  banter  me." 

"You  will  be  wiser  when  you  come  back," 
said  a  neighbor  who  was  experienced  on  the 
water. 

Thomas  started  down  Knob  Creek  in  his 
narrow  boat  that  he  expected  would  run 
through  the  snags  of  the  Mississippi,  like  a 
crane's  bill.  He  reached  the  Ohio,  but  never 
got  into  the  Mississippi,  for  the  Ohio  was 
swollen  by  rains,  and  the  narrow  boat  top- 
pled over. 

He  dragged  a  part  of  his  cargo  on  shore, 
and  covered  it  with  bark.  Those  were  dread- 
ful hours  to  him :  the  world  itself  seemed  to 
have  gone  to  pieces.  And  he  would  be 
laughed  at !  He  walked  home.  What  a  walk 
it  must  have  been ! 


232         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"It  would  have  all  gone  well,"  said  he, 
"if  I  had  only  had  ballast." 

Poor  Thomas,  he  needed  to  learn  that  les- 
son of  ballast,  and  he  seems  to  have  done  so 
in  part. 

Thomas  still  studied  life  from  nature, 
which  he  knew  so  well,  and  the  wolf-dog 
gave  him  text  for  thought.  This  old  wolf- 
dog  still  lived,  as  did  Moo-May,  and  they 
were  both  fond  of  Nancy. 

"He  was  a  wolf  once,"  Moo-May  had  said, 
"and  we  all  were."  This  was  not  strictly 
true,  but  it  represented  a  truth. 

"Yes,"  said  he  to  Nancy,  "a  minister  once 
told  me  that  our  ancestors  once  wandered 
about  Northern  England  and  Caledonia  in 
sheep  skins  and  goat  skins,  and  were  almost 
savages.  I  wonder  what  the  dog  would  do 
if  he  were  to  meet  a  pack  of  wolves.  Would 
he  run  off  with  them,  or  follow  Moo-May  to 
the  end  ?  Most  men  have  some  special  temp- 
tation, and  when  they  meet  those  of  their 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S  MOTHER  233 

own  kind,  they  follow  the  flock  from  which 
they  are  sprung." 

He  watched  the  dog,  whenever  old  Moo- 
May  came  to  the  cabins,  which  she  did  be- 
times on  her  leathery  feet,  and  it  was 
thought  that  she  sometimes  came  to  the  place 
nights  "with  feet  unseen." 

"Ain't  you  afraid,  Moo-May,  that  that 
there  dog  of  yourn  will  some  day  skip  away, 
when  he  hears  the  howl  of  wolves  in  the  tim- 
ber?" 

As  he  asked  the  question  an  unexpected 
thing  happened.  It  was  a  spring  day  when 
the  green  grass  was  lining  the  southern 
slopes  of  the  hills  after  the  winter  desola- 
tion. The  earth  was  hungry,  the  woodpeck- 
ers were  tapping  the  trees.  It  was  near 
nightfall,  when  suddenly  the  cry  of  a  wolf 
was  heard  near  a  distant  salt-lick. 

The  wolf-dog  leaped  up,  and  his  ears 
stood  out  like  horns. 


234        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"I  can  see  the  wolf  in  Mm  now,"  said 
Thomas. 

There  arose  on  the  still  air  the  cry  of  a 
pack  of  wolves.  The  dog  whirled  around 
and  around. 

1 '  There— what  did  I  tell  ye  1  He  is  a  wolf 
yet,  and  he  will  kite  away  some  day,  and 
become  again  the  wolf  that  he  is." 

1 1  No,  no, ' '  said  Moo-May.   ' '  Here,  Slyly. ' ' 

The  dog  obeyed  her  voice  at  once,  and  lay 
down  among  her  rags  with  a  face  of  shame, 
as  though  he  were  humbled  by  his  own  na- 
ture. 

"Why  did  he  do  that?"  asked  Thomas. 

"  Because  he  has  a  heart — dogs  have,  and 
I  hold  him  by  the  withe  of  his  heart.  All 
beings  follow  those  whom  they  love  the  best 
— don't  you  know?" 

"Wolves?" 

"Yes,  when  tHey  become  dogs.  THe  she- 
wolf  will  die  for  her  young." 

The  howls  of  the  wolves  continued  in  the 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S  MOTHER  235 

region  of  the  salt-lick,  where  it  was  prob- 
able they  were  attacking  deer. 

The  wolf-dog's  ears  were  restless. 

"That  dog  will  leave  you  for  his  own  some 
day,"  said  Thomas  again.  "Wait  till  his 
hungry  day  comes." 

' '  Wait  and  see, ' '  said  Moo-May.  ' i  He  will 
show  you  what  we  may  all  be." 

Here  was  a  woodland  philosophy  indeed. 

"A  new  affection  will  make  a  new  na- 
ture, ' '  said  Thomas.  * '  That  is  what  the  Gos- 
pel teaches.  I  will  watch  that  dog  to  the 
last.  The  heart  is  the  man;  it  is  the  heart 
of  the  beast.  Get  an  animal's  affection,  and 
you  may  lead  him  wherever  you  will. ' ' 

"I  shall  follow  you  with  unseen  feet," 
said  Moo-May,  "and  you  will  find  it  so.  If 
anything  happens  to  me,  I  wish  you  to  send 
the  dog  back  to  Sarah." 

"He  will  go  back  to  his  own,"  said  Thom- 
as, still  doubting  his  own  philosophy  in  re- 
gard to  the  power  of  the  heart. 


236         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"He  will  go  back  to  his  own  when  I  go 
back  to  my  people  who  are  left.  Why  will  I 
follow  you?" 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  love  Sarah  more  than  all  else 
in  the  world.  He  will  go  back  to  his  own 
when  I  go  back  to  my  own.  The  heart  goes 
to  its  own  through  fire  and  death.  The 
heart  is  the  world.  Wolf-dog,  wolf-dog, 
you  will  never  forsake  me — and  Thomas 
Lincoln.  I  will  never  forsake  Nancy,  and 
her  children.  I  will  never  leave  little  Abra- 
ham unguarded  or  unsheltered,  Sarah  said 


so.': 


"I  see  life  in  a  new  light,"  said  Thomas, 
"or  I  think  I  do.    We  shall  see ;  we  shall  see. 
To  have  a  new  nature  must  be  the  greatest 
thing  in  all  the  world.    If  the  wolf-dog  teach 
me  that,  I  ought  to  be  ashamed." 
"Would  you  ever  leave  Nancy?" 
"No — she  is  all  the  world  to  me." 
"Thomas,  I  would  die  in  defending  Sarah 


237 

— and  Nancy  for  Sarah's  sake.  And  Slyly, 
he  would  die  in  defending  me." 

"Against  the  wolves?" 

"Yes,  against  the  wolves.  It  is  not  the 
skin  that  makes  the  wolf — it  is  the  heart. 
Don't  you  see?" 

"We  shall  see  if  you  follow  Nancy  and 
her  children." 

The  wolves  were  still  howling  in  the  far- 
off  lick ;  the  red  sun  had  gone  down,  and  the 
wolf-dog  was  sleeping  on  old  Moo-May's 
rags. 


CHAPTEE  XXIV 

THE  LITTLE  GIRL  WHO  DIED 

LITTLE  Abraham  Lincoln,  as  lie  grew 
older,  went  to  a  school  conducted  by 
one  of  the  queer  old  schoolmasters  of  whom 
we  have  already  told.  His  great  qualifica- 
tion was  that  he  could  "lick  boys."  The 
boys  of  the  many  pioneer  schools  seemed  to 
have  a  common  notion  that  if  one  pulled  out 
an  eye  lash  and  placed  it  on  one's  hand,  be- 
fore being  whipped,  the  ruler  when  it  struck 
the  eye  lash  would  fly  all  to  pieces.  But 
this  Kentucky  schoolmaster  did  not  use  that 
kind  of  punishment.  There  were  hazel 
bushes  in  the  undergrowth  of  the  timber, 
lithe  and  long,  and  spotted  like  snakes,  and 
the  schoolmaster  used  these  in  disciplining 


240        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

a  boy.  He  was  proud  of  Ms  strong  arm, 
and  when  the  witch  hazel  came  down  on  the 
back  of  a  boy  it  left  its  marks  there  for 
many  weeks.  Unfortunately  Abraham  was 
one  of  the  sufferers. 

Abraham  liked  to  sit  on  the  banks  of 
streams,  watching  for  fish  or  for  animals. 
He  had  seen  coons  cross  a  stream.  The  lat- 
ter would  mount  a  tall  sapling  or  hazel  that 
would  bend,  and  lean  it  over  the  stream, 
like  a  bridge,  and  the  coon  would  jump  down 
on  the  other  side. 

One  day  he  was  out  playing  on  the  banks 
of  a  deep  stream  with  a  boy  by  the  name  of 
Gollaher,  when  he  thought  he  would  be  as 
bright  as  a  coon,  and  cross  the  stream  in 
like  manner. 

" Gollaher,"  said  he,  "I  am  going  to  coon 
the  stream.  Then  you  come  after  me.  It 
is  much  that  we  may  learn  from  the  animals, 
as  father  says." 

He  climbed  out  on  the  limb  of  a  sycamore 


THE  LITTLE  GIRL  WHO  DIED  241 

tree  and  "  canted"  it  towards  the  opposite 
shore.  But  he  did  not  calculate  his  weight 
as  wisely  as  did  the  coon.  The  tree  bent 
over  towards  the  middle  of  the  deep  water, 
Abraham  lost  his  hold  and  dropped  into  the 
water. 

"Hel-up  —  hel-up!"  he  cried. 

Gollaher,  after  nearly  losing.  his  own  life, 
rescued  Abraham.  Had  he  lived  in  Rome 
in  the  days  of  the  heroes,  and  rescued  a  man 
who  became  famous,  he  might  have  had  a 
monument.  But  in  those  days  no  one 
thought  much  about  it,  though  Abraham 
never  forgot  it. 

But  the  time  was  at  hand  that  Thomas 
Lincoln  was  to  make  his  far  journey  towards 
a  more  prosperous  country. 

One  day  Nancy  said  to  her  two  children 
—  for  there  was  another  little  girl  now  : 

"Let  us  go  out  together,  hand  in  hand. 
It  is  the  last  time." 

do  you  mean,  mother?" 


16 


242        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"It  is  the  last  time  that  we  will  visit  to- 
gether the  grave  of  my  little  girl,  your  little 
sister,  that  died." 

The  green  grass  was  springing  up  there, 
and  the  violets  in  the  midst.  The  birds 
were  singing  in  the  trees.  Nancy  sank 
down  on  the  little  bed  and  cried,  while  her 
two  children  stood  by  and  pitied  her. 

"My  children,  my  children,"  she  said, 
"they  are  all  the  world  to  me.  I  leave  my 
grave  to  God,  and  I  must  go  like  Hagar  into 
the  wilderness  with  my  bottle  of  water,  but 
if  I  have  need  the  angel  will  meet  me  there. 
I  may  be  blessed  in  my  children.  Abraham, 
you  may  yet  rise  up  to  bless  your  mother. 
Who  knows?  You  may  become  another 
Wayne,  who  knows,  who  knows?  I  only 
know  that  my  mother-heart  will  do  the  best 
I  can  to  make  your  feet  worthy  of  the  world. 
I  must  go  now,  little  grave,  little  grave.  I 
will  keep  you  green  in  my  heart,  but  I  will 
never  see  you  more.  I  shall  go,  but  not  re- 


THE  LITTLE  GIRL  WHO  DIED  243 

turn.  But  I  have  done  my  best,  and  will 
do  my  best.  Abraham,  you  do  pity  me, 
don't  you?  But,  cheer  up,  cheer  up,  the  sun 
shines  and  the  birds  sing,  and  the  flowers 
bloom,  and  I  have  dropped  my  last  tear  on 
the  mound  of  the  child  of  my  heart!" 

A  dark  form  arose  in  some  bushes,  and 
came  out  of  them.  It  clasped  Nancy  af- 
fectionately. 

"I  do  pity  you,  and  I  will  follow." 
It  was  Moo-May.    The  wolf-dog  was  with 
her. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

FACING  THE  WILDERNESS — AND  LIFE 

IT  was  now  indeed  "the  days  of  Wayne." 
A  new  tide  of  immigration  to  the  region 
of  the  Ohio  now  began.  The  world  seemed 
on  the  march.  The  lands  of  the  great  in- 
land seas  filled  rapidly  with  people;  old 
Fort  Dearborn  became  Chicago,  and  Chica- 
go seemed  to  summon  the  world,  so  rapidly 
did  it  grow. 

Fort  Wayne,  Indiana,  from  a  road  house 
of  pioneers  became  a  city  of  rest  by  the  way, 
Cincinnati  and  Cleveland  leaped  into  life, 
and  St.  Louis  rose  as  it  were  out  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi. 

Covered  wagons,  " prairie  schooners"  as 
they  were  called,  were  crossing  the  western 

245 


246         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

land  like  ships  on  wide  seas.  The  Indians 
were  disappearing;  everything  was  chang- 
ing into  life  and  activity. 

Although  Kentucky  was  a  beautiful  coun- 
try and  contained  much  rich  land,  many  of 
the  people  had  chosen  poor  farms  and  had 
not  gotten  along  very  well.  All  the  cousins 
of  Nancy  Hanks  at  Beechlands  now  began 
to  talk  of  moving  to  Indiana,  where  richer 
lands  were  reported.  It  really  was  a  bad 
plan  for  them ;  but,  like  most  pioneers,  they 
were  restless,  and,  though  Kentucky  then 
was  really  wild,  it  seemed  to  them  too  much 
settled. 

"We  cannot  stay,  we  must  go,"  said  they 
all.  It  was  destiny  that  impelled  them.  In 
the  days  of  Wayne  everyone  began  to  seek 
the  best  lands  in  all  the  new  prairie  country 
as  a  home  for  their  children. 

Moo-May  found  in  the  heart  of  the  beau- 
tiful, busy  Nancy  Hanks  Lincoln  a  sympa- 


FACING  THE  WILDERNESS  —  AND  LIFE   247 

thy  with  her  old  limbs  that  caused  the  old 
woman  to  love  her  more  and  more. 

One  day  she  said  to  Nancy: 

"If  anything  should  happen  to  you,  Nan- 
cy, I  would  die  for  you.  I  would  for  Sarah. 
What  is  life  *?  Hear  the  wild-geese  honk  in 
the  sky.  Who  guides  them  ?  The  Manitou. 
He  will  guide  me.  Moo-May,  she  fear  noth- 
ing more." 

She  wore  a  string  of  bears'  claws  around 
her  neck  which  hung  down  over  her  heart 
and  rattled.  One  day  she  took  it  off  and 
said: 

"I  will  wear  the  claws  no  more,  the  bears 
hide  now  and  the  land  is  peace." 

"We  are  talking  of  going  to  Indiana," 
said  Nancy.  "Will  you  go?" 

"With  unseen  feet,"  said  Moo-May.  "I 
will  walk  apart,  my  arrows  fly  apart.  I  can 
see  eyes  in  the  trees.  My  heart  goes  forth 
with  you,  Nancy,  into  the  wilderness." 

"And  with  Thomas?" 


248        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"If  you  say  so." 

"And  with  little  Abraham?" 

"Yes,  he  is  your  son  and  he  has  your 
heart.  There  is  nothing  left  for  poor  Moo- 
May  but  to  follow  hearts,  and  to  watch  the 
wild-geese  streaming  through  the  sky.  The 
Great  Spirit  that  guides  them  will  lead 
them,  but  my  feet  they  wither." 

Nothing  could  separate  her  from  Nancy, 
but  she  felt  sorry  to  move  again.  She  was 
old,  and  she  knew  the  farm  and  loved  to 
play  with  little  Abraham.  Even  Thomas 
came  in  time  to  have  a  real  regard  for  her, 
though  he  insisted  she  could  not  be  a  real 
Indian. 

"If  I  were  to  follow  the  *  Indian'  in  my 
own  nature,"  said  Thomas  one  day  to  Nan- 
cy, "I  would  seek  to  kill  every  Indian  that 
I  met,  just  as  my  brother  Mordecai  did." 

"But  what  would  you  do  with  Moo-May?" 
asked  Nancy  out  of  her  human  heart. 

"Moo-May?"  said  Thomas.    "There  is 


FACING  THE  WILDERNESS  — AND  LIFE    249 

something  in  her  that  I  do  not  understand ; 
she  seems  to  prove  to  us  what  the  preachers 
are  always  saying,  that  there  is  a  saving 
remnant  in  all  nations  and  hearts.  There 
is  some  good  in  everything  and  everywhere ; 
encourage  it  and  it  will  grow.  Nancy,  I 
have  always  found  it  safe  and  best  to  follow 
your  heart.  Little  Abraham,  whatever  may 
be  my  lot,  or  whatever  I  do,  or  wherever  I 
go,  do  you  follow  the  heart  of  your  mother. 
The  boy  does  well  who  follows  his  mother's 
heart." 
He  added: 

"  Abraham,  what  would  you  do  if  you 
were  to  meet  an  Indian  with  his  war  paint 
on?" 

" I  would  follow  my  mother's  heart  as  you 
told  me.  I  love  my  mother;  I  think  that 
she  is  an  angel.  If  I  go  wrong  and  hurt 
her  heart,  I  am  sorry.  Mother,  what  would 
you  do  if  you  were  to  meet  an  Indian  with 
his  war  paint  on1?" 


250         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"I  would  tell  Mm  the  story  of  Moo-May, 
how  she  hid  Sarah  behind  the  log.  Then  I 
would  tell  him  that  I  would  save  him  were 
he  in  danger,  if  I  could." 

Many  years  afterward,  Abraham  Lincoln 
was  a  captain  in  the  Black  Hawk  war.  An 
Indian  captive,  "in  his  war  paint,"  was 
brought  into  the  camp  by  his  company,  who 
proposed  to  put  him  to  death.  Lincoln 
asked  mercy  for  the  captive.  His  men  ar- 
gued against  it,  and  were  about  to  kill  the 
captive  when  Lincoln  stood  up  between  the 
prisoner  and  his  captors,  and  with  the  hero- 
ism of  a  giant  saved  the  Indian  from  death. 
He  followed  his  mother's  heart.  It  was 
that  which  awoke  within  him,  and  not  the 
spirit  of  his  Uncle  Mordecai,  who  sought  to 
revenge  the  death  of  his  father  Abraham, 
by  killing  every  hostile  Indian  he  met. 

The  now  aged  wolf-dog  was  more  and 
more  a  wonder  to  Thomas  Lincoln  and 
Abraham. 


FACING  THE  WILDERNESS  — AND  LIFE    251 

"He  shows  me  what  every  being  might 
become,"  said  Thomas,  "if  it  might  only 
have  a  changed  nature,  in  the  growth  of  the 
world." 

He  was  a  visionary  man,  with  all  of  his 
rough,  coarse  nature.  He  saw  things  from 
within. 

"Abe,"  said  Thomas,  "your  grandfather's 
name  was  Abraham." 

"Tell  me  about  him,"  said  the  boy. 

"I  have  told  you  before,"  said  the  car- 
penter. 

"Tell  me  again,  I  like  to  hear  it." 

"He  was  shot  by  an  Indian  lurking  in  the 
bush,  as  you  have  heard  people  say." 

"How  old  were  you  then?" 

"Seven  years  old." 

"Did  you  see  Grandfather  killed?" 

"Abe,  Abe,  I  sat  down  by  his  dead  body 
in  the  field,  and  saw  him  die.  Then  I  made 
an  oath  that  I  would  be  revenged  on  the  red- 
skins. My  brother  Mordecai  made  the  same 


252         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

resolution.  He  shot  Indians  at  sight.  It 
filled  him  with  joy  to  see  an  Indian  bite  the 
ground.  And  now — look  before  you — what 
do  you  see?  That  old  Indian  woman  who 
saved  Sarah  has  given  her  back.  Oh,  there 
is  a  saving  remnant,  as  the  Scripture  says, 
in  all  people.  Abe,  Abe,  it  is  for  you  to 
conquer  Indians  by  changing  their  hearts." 

" Father,  I  will  remember." 

"I  see  everything  in  a  changed  light 
now,"  said  the  carpenter. 

At  last  they  set  out  for  Indiana.  It  was 
a  notable  journey  for  all  of  them. 

What  did  it  mean  to  American  history? 
Abraham  Lincoln  was  seven  years  old  when 
he  took  his  mother's  hand  to  ride  and  to 
walk  from  their  forest  home,  not  far  from 
Louisville,  Kentucky,  to  Spencer,  Indiana, 
where  Thomas  Lincoln  had  found  some  rich 
land. 

Nancy  Hanks  Lincoln  had  long  ago 
walked  and  ridden  on  a  similar  journey,  as 


FACING  THE  WILDERNESS  —  AND  LIFE    253 

we  have  pictured.  'She  was  only  five  years 
old  when  she  followed  her  parents  and  cou- 
sins from  Virginia  to  the  open  and  free 
lands  of  Kentucky,  on  the  lordly  Ohio.  She 
probably  rode  part  of  the  way  on  a  pack 
saddle  which  was  made  of  a  crotch  of  a  tree. 
All  of  them  were  used  to  the  hardships  of 
travel.  So  it  was  with  a  cheerful  and  hope- 
ful spirit  that  Nancy  faced  the  wilderness 
again. 

Thomas  Lincoln  had  hired  a  team  for  the 
journey.  He  could  follow  a  trail  for  part 
of  the  way;  then  he  would  have  to  hew  a 
way  with  a  broadaxe  in  the  timber  country, 
where  the  trees  were  so  thick  that  the  team 
could  not  pass.  Abraham,  small  as  he  was, 
helped  him  make  the  way. 

"Hew  now,"  said  Thomas  Lincoln,  "for 
you  will  have  to  hew  your  way  through  life. 
It  isn't  much  that  I  will  have  to  leave  you. 
You  will  have  to  learn  to  swing  the  broad- 
axe,  to  level  timber,  to  split  rails,  and  build 


254         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

and  build.  We  can  hardly  tell  what  we  are 
building  for." 

Abraham's  mother  sang  all  the  way.  The 
grasses  were  full  of  joyous  birds,  and  the 
woodpecker  tapped  the  trees.  The  great 
animals  had  not  disappeared  from  the  giant 
woodlands  and  the  few  open  spaces,  and  they 
could  hear  them  break  the  dry  bushes  and 
flee  away. 

They  shot  game  for  food, — deer,  bear, 
wild  turkeys  and  grouse,  and  hung  their  In- 
dian kettle  over  a  fire,  and  cooked  the  savory 
meat.  At  all  times  they  could  find  luscious 
berries.  Here  and  there  corn  could  be  ob- 
tained of  friendly  Indians,  though  the  wil- 
derness, as  a  rule,  was  a  solitude,  and  a 
white  man  still  looked  upon  all  Indians  with 
suspicion.  But  to  the  honor  of  the  old 
tribes  be  it  said  that  they  kept  the  treaty 
made  with  Wayne.  The  tomahawk  was 
buried  forever. 

Of  what  did  they  talk  in  their  march 


FACING  THE  WILDERNESS  — AND  LIFE    255 

through  the  silences  ?  Of  religion  and  camp 
meetings,  of  bear-hunts,  and  warriors,  and 
of  the  hundred  interesting  features  of  pio- 
neer life ;  of  what  they  hoped  to  find  in  the 
new  country  to  which  they  were  traveling. 
They  carried  the  Bible  with  them.  It  was 
a  library  to  them.  Nancy  once  said  to  Abra- 
ham: 

"If  you  could  have  but  one  of  two  things, 
a  Bible  or  a  farm,  I  would  wish  that  you 
might  have  the  Bible. " 

The  family  put  soul  value  above  every- 
thing. Simple  as  they  were,  they  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  so  awed  Immanuel 
Kant,  the  great  German  philosopher  of 
whom  you  will  some  day  know  more  and  of 
whom  they  had  probably  never  heard,  that 
"Spirit  is  the  only  reality,"  the  only  thing 
that  will  last. 

The  stars  gleamed  above  them,  through 
the  towers  of  trees. 

Moo-May  was  growing  feeble.    Her  feet 


256         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

seemed  to  be  dying.  She  insisted  on  going 
on,  but  it  was  soon  evident  that  she  would 
not  finish  the  journey. 

One  day  she  said: 

"I  shall  soon  go  to  the  South  Land 
(heaven) ;  to  the  Manitou  and  to  my  own 
son.  Remember  that  it  was  I  who  guarded 
Sarah  from  evil;  it  was  the  little  wolf-dog 
that  the  people  of  your  families  often  heard 
in  the  wilderness.  I  called  him  back  when 
he  came  too  near.  He  will  watch  over  me 
when  I  die,  and  he  will  never  leave  my] 
grave." 

"You  must  stay  with  u&,"  said  the  trav- 
elers. 

"No — I  shall  soon  go  to  my  own — and 
my  dog  he  will  follow  me  soon.  I  cannot 
walk  these  roads.  I  must  be  in  the  woods. 
There  I  have  lived  most  of  my  life.  I  will 
go  with  the  wolf-dog  and  find  rest  in  my 
own  way." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  WOLF-DOG  '8  STKANGE  CONDUCT. 

MOO-MAY  was  following  them. 
The  wolf-dog  had  done  some  strange 
things  in  the  past,  but  he  became  unac- 
countable now.  He  would  come  out  of  the 
thick  woods  between  the  hills  or  elevations, 
utter  a  "  Cry-oo-oo-oi ! "  and  run  back  again, 
as  if  in  perplexity,  or  deep  distress.  He 
seemed  to  call  for  human  help. 

The  party  hoped  that  Moo-May)  woujld 
appear  and  discover  the  cause  of  the  wolf- 
dog's  perplexity. 

"  Cry-oo-oo-oi ! " 

They  heard  it  repeated  over  and  over 
again.  Now  far  away  among  the  green 
hills,  now  nearer  and  nearer,  now  in  the 
open,  in  clear  view. 

17  257 


258         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"It  may  be  that  something  has  happened 
to  Moo-May,"  said  Nancy  to  Thomas. 
"The  next  time  the  wolf-dog  comes  out  into 
the  open,  follow  him." 

The  dog  soon  came  into  the  open  again. 

Thomas  went  towards  him.  The  latter 
retreated,  uttering  the  same  cry  in  a  tone 
almost  human.  The  dog  retreated  from  the 
open  further  and  further  away,  and  Thomas 
stumbled  after  him.  At  times  he  lost  sight 
of  him.  The  hills  grew  more  and  more  rag- 
ged. Cavernous  rocks  here  and  there  ap- 
peared overhung  with  ferns.  Swallows 
darted  out  of  some  of  these  caverns  and 
sped  through  the  still  blue  air  like  darts. 
Great  trees  like  castles  rose  up  from  the 
higher  of  the  hills. 

At  last  Thomas  came  in  sight  of  a  giant 
cave,  one  so  large  that  he  half  believed  it 
to  be  the  giant  cave  of  which  he  had  heard 
as  existing  in  Kentucky.  This,  however, 
was  a  smaller  one. 


THE  WOLF-DOG'S  STRANGE  CONDUCT     259 

The  dog  ran  into  the  cave  crying,  rather 
than  howling.  The  opening  was  lofty.  A 
little  beyond  the  arched  opening  it  was  dusk, 
and  as  he  entered,  bats  seemed  to  break 
away  from  their  hanging  places,  and  to 
brush  by.  Flocks  of  swallows  came  and 
went  to  and  from  the  cavern.  Wild  flowers 
and  plants  of  great  beauty  drooped  from 
the  outer  walls,  and  a  spring  of  clear  water 
ran  down  a  side  of  the  great  cavern. 

Thomas  followed  the  dog,  and  soon  made 
a  singular  discovery. 

Just  beyond  the  light  that  entered  the 
cave,  in  the  still  shadows,  lay  an  old  Indian 
woman  on  a  bed  of  leaves.  He  put  his  hand 
on  her  face.  He  drew  it  away  quickly,  the 
face  was  cold  and  breathless.  It  was  Moo- 
May. 

The  wolf-dog  jumped  around  her,  he 
smelled  of  her  hands  and  licked  one  of  them. 
He  ran  out  of  the  cave  in  distress,  and  sent 
forth  the  same  pitiful  cry — 


260         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

"Oo-oo-oi!" 

He  leaped  past  his  companion  and  almost 
upon  him.  He  ran  around  him,  as  they  both 
passed  into  the  light,  and  paused  looking  up 
into  his  face,  as  much  as  to  say:  "What 
is  it?" 

Thomas  replied:   "It  is  death!" 

The  dog  did  not  comprehend.  Of  course 
he  did  not. 

"Death!" 

The  dog  fell  down  and  spread  out  his  feet, 
and  looked  up  to  his  companion  as  much  as 
to  ask :  * '  What  does  it  mean  I ' ' 

"I  do  not  know  what  it  means,"  said 
Thomas,  shaking  his  head. 

The  dog  seemed  to  understand  the  shake 
of  the  head,  that  it  meant  that  he  did  not 
know  the  meaning  of  death,  nor  why  the 
wayfaring  Indian  woman  should  be  dead. 

Thomas  sorrowfully  found  his  way  back 
to  his  team  and  obtained  a  shovel. 

"Moo-May  is  .dead,"  said  he.    "I  have 


THOMAS   BECKONS   "COME,"    BUT   THE   DOG 
WON'T  FOLLOW 


THE  WOLF-DOG'S  STRANGE  CONDUCT     261 

found  her  body  in  a  cave  among  the  birds 
and  bats.    I  must  go  back  and  bury  her." 

"  Bring  back  the  wolf-dog  when  you  re- 
turn," said  Nancy. 

He  buried  Moo-May.  The  j  wolf-dog 
looked  on  in  wonder.  He  knew  not  the 
meaning  of  it  all,  and  his  companion  knew 
but  little  more  than  he.  Thomas  buried  her 
in  the  shadows  of  the  cave.  He  patted 
down  the  earth,  laid  a  stone  upon  the  mound, 
and  started  back  for  the  wagon  and  the  place 
where  he  had  camped. 

He    whistled    to    the    dog    and    said: 
"Come!"    But  the  dog  did  not  follow  him. 
He  walked  with  lowered  head  about  the 
grave  and  suddenly  turned  and  licked  the 
hand  that  had  covered  the  body. 

"Come,"  said  Thomas,  as  he  passed  out 
from  the  place. 

The  dog  understood  the  word  and  sign, 
but  refused  to  obey.  Thomas's  cheek  was 
wet  with  tears.  He  felt  the  helplessness  of 


262         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

life.  The  animal  had  learned  much  of  life, 
but  the  lone  digger  of  that  grave  could  not 
explain  to  the  dog  what  he  himself  did  not 
understand. 

As  Thomas  passed  over  a  hill  again,  he 
called  from  the  top :  ' '  Come ! ' ' 

He  saw  the  dog  stretch  himself  beside  the 
over-turned  earth  in  the  cave;  he  hurried 
back  and  said  to  his  family :  "I  have  buried 
Moo-May  and  have  left  the  dog  to  watch 
her  grave;  he  would  not  come.  It  may  be 
that  he  will  follow  us." 

The  dog  did  not  follow. 

In  the  night  they  were  awakened  Ey 
strange  sounds  from  the  hills.  "Cry-oo- 
oo-oi!" 

"It  is  the  wolf-dog,"  said  Thomas. 

They  went  on  and  on,  Nancy  leading  little 
Abraham  towards  the  great  Indiana  wood- 
lands, and  Destiny,  but  they  heard  the  cry 
of  the  wolf-dog  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  DESIGN  FROM  WHICH  OTJR  STORY  WAS 
DRAWN 

WE  have  spent  some  pleasant  hours  in 
the  company  of  little  Nancy,  and  all 
would  be  glad  to  know  some  more  facts 
about  her  and  about  her  friends  and  rela- 
tives,— facts  which  were  not  given  with  de- 
tail in  the  preceding  chapters.  One  his- 
torian speaks  as  follows  of  Nancy  and  her 
dear  ones: 

*  * 

"Her  mother's  name  before  marriage  was 
Shipley,  and  one  of  her  sisters  married  a 
Mr.  Berry;  another  sister  married  Eobert 
Mitchell,  who  also  came  to  Kentucky  about 
the  year  1780.  While  on  the  journey  the 
Mitchells  were  attacked  by  the  Indians  and 

263 


264         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

Mrs.  Mitchell  fatally  wounded,  and  their 
only  daughter,  Sarah,  a  child  eleven  years 
old,  was  captured  and  carried  into  Michi- 
gan, where  a  squaw  saved  her  life  by  hiding 
her  behind  a  log.  Mr.  Mitchell  mounted 
his  horse,  and,  accompanied  by  his  friend, 
General  Adair,  went  in  search  of  his  daugh- 
ter, but  was  drowned  in  the  Ohio  River 
while  attempting  to  cross  it." 

Still  another  historian  has  this  to  say  of 
Nancy : 

"She  was  but  nine  years  old  when  her 
father  died,  and  soon  the  dear  mother  also 
followed  her  husband.  The  little  orphan 
then  went  to  live  with  her  mother's  sister, 
Mrs.  Richard  Berry,  at  Beechland,  a  pretty 
place  near  Springfield.  Here  all  her  aunts, 
uncles,  and  cousins  on  her  mother's  side,  the 
Mitchells,  Shipleys,  and  Berrys,  had  settled 
when  Joseph  Hanks  made  his  home  in  Eliza- 
bethtown.  With  this  kind  Uncle  Richard 
Nancy  lived  until  she  was  married.  Theirs 


OUR  STORY'S  DESIGN  265 

was  a  merry  life  for  a  few  years  there  in  old 
Kentucky,  and  the  beautiful  Nancy  Hanks 
seems  to  have  been  the  centre  and  leader  in 
all  the  merry  country  parties.  Bright, 
scintillating,  noted  for  her  keen  wit  and 
repartee,  she  had  withal  a  great  loving 
heart. 

"  Among  the  many  friends  who  visited  the 
old  Berry  homestead  was  one  cousin,  some 
six  years  older  than  Nancy,  known  as 
Thomas  Lincoln.  His  father,  Abraham 
Lincoln,  was  a  well-to-do  farmer,  owning  a 
tract  of  some  two  hundred  and  forty  acres 
of  land.  His  father,  John  Lincoln,  had 
come  into  Virginia  from  Pennsylvania, 
probably  influenced  to  this  step  by  his 
friend,  Daniel  Boone,  who  had  moved  to 
North  Carolina  with  his  father's  family  in 
1748.  Daniel  Boone  had  never  been  satis- 
fied, however,  to  stay  in  North  Carolina,  and 
in  1769  he  had  begun  to  explore  the  land  to 
the  westward.  Finally,  in  1773,  he  had 


266        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

moved  with  his  family  and  a  few  neighbors 
to  Kentucky.  Abraham  Lincoln,  born  of  a 
race  of  pioneers,  became  restless  in  his  Vir- 
ginia home,  as  he  heard  from  time  to  time 
from  the  Boones  and  others  of  the  settlers 
in  the  new  country,  and  finally,  in  1780,  he 
sold  his  Virginia  property,  went  to  Ken- 
tucky, entered  a  large  tract  of  land,  and  re- 
turning, moved  his  family.  Eight  years 
later,  when  he  was  killed  by  the  Indians,  he 
owned  twelve  thousand  acres  of  land. 

"  According  to  the  laws  of  Kentucky  gov- 
erning property,  nearly  all  of  his  estate 
went  to  his  eldest  son,  Mordecai.  His 
younger  son,  Thomas,  who  was  only  nine 
years  old  at  his  death,  received  nothing. 
He  lived  about  with  one  and  another  mem- 
bers of  his  family,  and  eventually  went  to 
Elizabethtown,  and  learned  the  carpenter 
trade  of  his  cousin,  Joseph  Hanks.  He 
seems  to  have  made  good  progress  at  his 
trade,  for,  according  to  an  old  and  trust- 


OUR  STORY'S  DESIGN  267 

worthy  acquaintance,  he  had  the  best  set 
of  tools  in  the  country  and  was  a  good 
carpenter  for  those  days.  No  doubt,  at  Red 
Hill,  the  home  of  Joseph  Hanks,  he  saw  his 
cousin  Nancy  at  times.  He  may  have  met 
her  when  visiting  his  brother  Mordecai,  who 
lived  not  far  from  the  Berrys,  Nancy's 
home.  At  all  events  the  acquaintance  be- 
tween the  two  ripened  into  love,  and  they 
became  engaged.  It  has  been  inferred  by 
those  who  have  made  no  investigation  of 
Thomas  Lincoln's  life  that  Nancy  Hanks 
made  a  very  poor  choice  of  a  husband.  The 
facts  do  not  warrant  this  theory.  Thomas 
Lincoln  had  been  forced  from  his  boyhood 
to  shift  for  himself  in  a  young  and  unde- 
veloped country.  He  is  known  to  have  been 
a  man  who,  in  spite  of  this  wandering  life, 
contracted  no  bad  habits.  He  was  temper- 
ate and  honest,  and  his  name  is  recorded  in 
more  than  one  place  in  the  records  of  Ken- 
tucky. He  was  a  church-goer,  and,  if  tra- 


268        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

dition  may  be  believed,  a  stout  defender  of 
Ms  peculiar  religious  views.  He  held  ad- 
vanced ideas  of  what  was  already  becoming 
an  important  public  question  in  Kentucky, 
the  right  to  hold  negroes  as  slaves.  One  of 
his  old  friends  has  said  of  him  and  his  wife, 
Nancy  Hanks,  that  they  were  'just  steeped 
full  of  notions  about  the  wrongs  of  slavery 
and  the  rights  of  man,  as  explained  by 
Thomas  Jefferson,  and  Thomas  Paine.' 
These  facts  show  that  he  must  have  been  a 
man  of  some  natural  intellectual  attainment. 
He  was  a  companionable  man,  too,  and  fa- 
mous as  a  story-teller,  an  accomplishment 
which  seems  to  have  been  common  enough  to 
the  Lincolns,  for  Kentucky  traditions  say 
that  Mordecai  Lincoln,  Thomas's  brother, 
was  one  of  the  famous  story-tellers  of  the 
country." 

The  younger  boy,  Thomas,  could  tell  a 
story ,  too,  as  you  know.  He  retained  a 
vivid  recollection  of  his  father's  murder  by 


OUR  STORY'S  DESIGN  269 

the  Indians,  which,  together  with  other  rem- 
iniscences of  his  boyhood,  he  was  fond  of 
relating,  later  in  life,  to  his  children  to  re- 
lieve the  tediousiiess  of  long  winter  even- 
ings. 

"Considering  the  disadvantages  under 
which  Thomas  had  labored,"  says  one  his- 
torian, "he  had  a  very  good  start  in  life 
when  he  became  engaged  to  Nancy  Hanks. 
He  had  a  trade  and  owned  a  farm  which  he 
had  bought  in  1803  in  Buffalo,  and  also  land 
in  Elizabethtown.  If  all  the  conditions  of 
his  life  be  taken  into  consideration,  it  is  not 
true,  as  has  been  said,  that  Thomas  Lincoln 
was  at  this  time  a  shiftless  and  purposeless 
man.  In  appearance  he  was  short  and 
stout,  with  dark  hair,  a  full  face,  gray  eyes, 
and  prominent  nose.  He  is  said  to  have 
been  one  of  the  strongest  men  in  his  coun- 
try, the  terror  of  wrestlers  and  evil-doers. 

"The  traditions  of  Nancy  Hanks 's  ap- 
pearance at  this  time  all  agree  in  calling  her 


270         A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

a  beautiful  girl.  She  is  said  to  have  been 
of  medium  height,  weighing  one  hundred 
and  thirty  pounds,  with  light  hair,  beauti- 
ful eyes,  a  sweet  and  sensitive  mouth,  and  a 
kindly  and  gentle  manner. " 

You  recall  how  Nancy  and  Thomas,  with 
little  Abraham,  journeyed  from  their  old 
Kentucky  home  to  a  new  abode  in  Indiana, 
in  order,  if  possible,  to  secure  some  of  the 
fertile  farm-lands  that  were  to  be  had  there. 
Listen  to  what  one  historian  says  of  this 
journey : 

"In  the  year  1816  the  family  prepared  to 
leave  Kentucky.  Their  household  furniture 
and  farm  tools  were  packed  into  a  wagon. 
Whatever  of  stock  they  may  have  owned 
was  driven  behind,  and  the  little  procession 
started.  The  first  part  of  their  journey 
could  not  have  been  very  difficult,  for  at 
that  time  the  highway  to  the  Ohio  was  ex- 
cellent. It  was  after  crossing  the  river  into 
Indiana  that  their  pilgrimage  became  trou- 


OUR  STORY'S  DESIGN  271 

blesome:  then  they  no  doubt  literally  cut 
their  way  through  the  forests  to  the  land 
which  Thomas  Lincoln  had  taken  up  for 
himself  and  family.  This  land  lay  in  what 
is  now  Spencer  County,  Indiana.  It  was  on 
the  Little  Pigeon  Creek,  about  fifteen  miles 
north  of  the  Ohio  River  and  a  mile  and  a 
half  east  of  Gentryville. 

"To  Nancy  Hanks  this  removal  from 
Kentucky  must  have  been  full  of  sadness. 
She  was  leaving  behind  a  great  circle  of 
relatives  and  friends.  She  was  leaving  be- 
hind, too,  the  grave  of  her  youngest  child, 
and  one  of  the  most  pathetic  incidents  which 
has  been  preserved  to  us  of  her  life  is  the 
visit  she  made  to  the  little  grave  with  her 
two  older  children,  just  before  she  started 
on  her  journey  into  the  Indiana  wilderness. 

"The  overland  trip,  while  it  may  have 
had  its  perils,  was  not  necessarily  very  dif- 
ficult or  unpleasant.  This  journey  was  at- 
tended by  none  of  the  dangerous  features 


272        A  HEROINE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

which  were  characteristic  of  the  Wilderness 
Road.  Indians  and  wild  animals  no  longer 
threatened.  There  was  much  of  amusement 
and  adventure  in  these  trips,  and  no  doubt 
Nancy  Hanks,  as  she  rode  in  or  walked  by 
the  wagon,  found  much  of  delight  in  the 
joy  of  her  children  over  the,  to  them,  novel 
and  exciting  journey. 

"It  was  after  Indiana  was  reached  and 
the  camp  in  the  Wilderness,  which  was  to 
be  their  shelter,  was  built,  that  her  hard- 
ships began.  What  was  called  a  half -faced 
camp,  a  species  of  log  lean-to,  without  doors 
or  windows,  was  their  first  home,  and  no 
doubt  the  winter  of  1816  and)  1817  must 
have  been  a  trying  one  for  Nancy  Hanks." 

Soon  after  reaching  Indiana  Nancy  died, 
aged  thirty-five  years.  Poor  little  Abra- 
ham was  broken  hearted  and  never  fully 
recovered  from  the  blow  caused  by  his  loss. 
He  went  miles  to  get  a  minister  to  come  and 
preach  her  funeral  sermon,  and  often  in 


OUR  STORY'S  DESIGN  273 

after  life  he  would  say  with  tears  in  his 

eyes:  ?> 

"I  owe  all  I  am  to  my  angel  mother. 


THE   END 


18 


THE  JOHN  C.  WINSTON    GO'S  POPULAR  JUVENILES. 

FAMOUS  STANDARD  JUVENILES 
FOR  GIRLS 

A   GOOD  GIRL'S    BOOK    IS   HARD   TO   FIND  ! 

One  often  hears  the  above  quoted.  These  books  have 
stood  the  tests  of  time  and  careful  mothers,  and  will  be 
of  the  greatest  interest  to  girls'  of  all  ages.  Free  from 
any  unhealthy  sensationalism,  yet  full  of  incident  and 
romance,  they  are  the  cream  of  the  best  girls'  books  pub- 
lished. These  volumes, each  one  well  illustrated,  carefully 
printed  on  excellent  paper,  substantially  bound  in  cloth, 
I2mo. 

WAYS  AND  MEANS   LIBRARY.        By   Margaret 
Vandegrift.    4  vols $3  oo 

Queen's  Body  Guard.  Doris  and  Theodora. 

Rose  Raymond's  Wards.     Ways  and  Means. 
STORIES   FOR  GIRLS.     3  vols a  a 5 

Dr.  Gilbert's  Daughters. 

Marion  Berkley.  Hartwell  Farm. 

HONEST    ENDEAVOR    LIBRARY.          By  Lucy  C. 

Lillie.     3  vols '. $a   35 

The  Family  Dilemma.          Allison's  Adventures. 
Ruth  Endicott's  Way. 

MILBROOK  LIBRARY.    By  Lucy  C.  Lillie. 

4  vols $3  oo 

Helen  Glenn.  Esther's  Fortune. 

The  Squire's  Daughter.  For  Honor's  Sake. 

RECENT  SUCCESSES 

The  following,  though  of  recent  date,  have  at  once 
reached  such  a  height  of  popularity  that  they  can  already 
be  classified  as  standards.  75  cents  each. 

Lady  Green  Satin.     By  Baroness  Deschesney. 

Manon. Berkley.     By  Elizabeth  B.  Comins. 

Lenny,  the  Orphan.     By  Margaret  Hosmer. 

Family  Dilemma.     By  Lucy  C.  Lillie. 

Question  of  Honor.     By  Lynde  Palmer 

Girl's  Ordeal.  A.     By  Lucy  C.  Lillie. 

Elinor  Belden ;  or  The  Step  Brothers.     By  Lucy  C.  Lillie. 

Where  Honor  Leads.     By  Lynde  Palmer. 

Under  the  Holly.     By  Margaret  Hosmer. 

Two  Bequests.  The;  or,  Heavenward  Led.     By  Jane  R.  Sommere. 

The  Thistles  of  Mount  Cedar.     By  Ursula  Tannenforst.       -    $1.25 


FAMOUS  STANDARD 
JUVENILE  LIBRARIES. 

ANY    VOLUME    SOLD   SEPARATELY    AT    $1.00    PER     VOLUME 

(Except  the  Sportsman's  Club  Series,  Frank  Nelson  Series  and 
Jack  Hazard  Series). 

Each  Volume  Illustrated.     121110.     Cloth. 

HORATIO  ALGER,  JR. 

The  enormous  sales  of  the  books  of  Horatio  Alger,  Jr., 
show  the  greatness  of  his  popularity  among  the  boys,  and 
prove  that  he  is  one  of  their  most  favored  writers.  I  am 
*old  that  more  than  half  a  million  copies  altogether  have 
been  sold,  and  that  all  the  large  circulating  libraries  in  the 
country  have  several  complete  sets,  of  which  only  two  or 
three  volumes  are  ever  on  the  shelves  at  one  time.  If  this 
is  true,  what  thousands  and  thousands  of  boys  have  read 
and  are  reading  Mr.  Alger's  books!  His  peculiar  style  of 
stories,  often  imitated  but  never  equaled,  have  taken  a 
hold  upon  the  young  people,  and,  despite  their  similarity, 
are  eagerly  read  as  soon  as  they  appear. 

Mr.  Alger  became  famous  with  the  publication  of  that 
undying  book,  "Ragged  Dick,  or  Street  Life  in  New  York." 
It  was  his  first  book  for  young  people,  and  its  success  was 
so  great  that  he  immediately  devoted  himself  to  that  kind 
of  writing.  It  was  a  new  and  fertile  field  for  a  writer 
then,  and  Mr.  Alger's  treatment  of  it  at  once  caught  the 
fancy  of  the  boys.  "Ragged  Dick"  first  appeared  in  1868, 
and  ever  since  then  it  has  been  selling  steadily,  until  now 
it  is  estimated  that  about  200,000  copies  of  the  series  have 
been  sold. — Pleasant  Hours  for  Boys  and  Girls. 


THE  JOHN  C.   WINSTON  CO/S   POPULAR 

A  writer  for  boys  should  have  an  abundant  sympathy 
with  them.  He  should  be  able  to  enter  into  their  plans, 
hopes,  and  aspirations.  He  should  learn  to  look  upon  life 
as  they  do.  Boys  object  to  be  written  down  to.  A  boy's 
heart  opens  to  the  man  or  writer  who  understands  him. 

—From  Writing  Stories  for  Boys,  by  Horatio  Alger,  Jr. 


RAGGED  DICK  SERIES. 

6vols.  BY  HORATIO  ALGER,  JR.  £6.00 

Ragged  Dick.  Rough  and  Ready. 

Fame  and  Fortune.  Ben  the  Luggage  Boy. 

Mark  the  Match  Boy.  Ruf us  and  Rose. 

TATTERED  TOM  SERIES— First  Series. 

4vols.  BY  HORATIO  ALGER,  JR.  $4.00 

Tattered  Tom.  Phil  the  Fiddler. 

Paul  the  Peddler.  Slow  and  Sure. 

TATTERED  TOM  SERIES— Second  Series. 

4  vols.  |4.oo 

Julius.  Sam's  Chance. 

The  Young  Outlaw.  The  Telegraph  Boy. 

CAMPAIGN  SERIES. 

3  vols.  BY  HORATIO  ALGER,  JR.  $3.00 

Frank's  Campaign.  Charlie  Codman's  Cruise- 

Paul  Prescott's  Charge. 

LUCK  AND  PLUCK  SERIES— First  Series. 

4  vols.  BY  HORATIO  ALGER,  JR.  $4.00 
Luck  and  Pluck.                                  Strong  and  Steady. 
Sink  or  Swim.                                      Strive  and  Succeed. 


THE  JOHN   C.    WINSTON   CO/S   POPULAR  JUVENILES. 

LUCK  AND  PLUCK  SERIES— Second  Series. 

4  vols.  $4-oo 

Try  and  Trust.  Risen  from  the  Ranks. 

Bound  to  Rise.  Herbert  Carter's,  legacy. 

BRAVE  AND  BOLD  SERIES. 

4  vols.  BY  HORATIO  ALGER,  JR.  $4.00 

Brave  and  Bold.  Shifting  for  Himself. 

Jack's  Ward.  Wait  and  Hope. 

NEW  WORLD  SERIES. 

3  vols.  Bv  HORATIO  ALGER,  JR.  $3-00 

Digging  for  Gold.    Facing  the  World.         In  a  New  World 

VICTORY  SERIES. 

3  vols.  BY  HORATIO  ALGER,  JR.  $3-oo 

Only  an  Irish  Boy.  Adrift  in  the  City. 

Victor  Vane,  or  the  Young  Secretary. 

FRANK  AND  FEARLESS  SERIES. 

3  vols.  BY  HORATIO  ALGER,  JR.  $$  .00 

Frank  Hunter's  Peril.  Frank  and  Fearless. 

The  Young  Salesman. 

GOOD  FORTUNE  LIBRARY. 

3  vols.  BY  HORATIO  ALGER,  JR.  $3.00 

Walter  Sherwood's  Probation.     A  Boy's  Fortune. 
The  Young  Bank  Messenger. 

RL'PERT'S  AMBITION. 
ivoL  BY  HORATIO  ALGER,  JH.  $1.00 

JED,  THE  POOR-HOUSE  BOY. 

I  voL  BY  HORATIO  ALGER,  JR.  $IJQC 


JOHN   C.   WINSTON   CO/S    POPULAR  JUVE.NILE3. 

EDWARD  S.  ELLIS. 

EDWARD  S.  ELLIS,  the  popular  writer  of  boys'  books,  is 
A  native  of  Ohio,  where  he  was  born  somewhat  more  than  a 
half-century  ago.  His  father  was  a  famous  hunter  and  rifle 
shot,  and  it  was  doubtless  his  exploits  and  those  of  his  asso- 
ciates, with  their  tales  of  adventure  which  gave  the  son  his 
taste  for  the  breezy  backwoods  and  for  depicting  the  stirring 
life  of  the  early  settlers  on  the  frontier. 

Mr.  Ellis  began  writing  at  an  early  age  and  his  work  was 
acceptable  from  the  first.  His  parents  removed  to  New 
Jersey  while  he  was  a  boy  and  he  was  graduated  from  the 
State  Normal  School  and  became  a  member  of  the  faculty 
while  still  in  his  teens.  He  was  afterward  principal  of  the 
Trenton  High  School,  a  trustee  and  then  superintendent  of 
schools.  By  that  time  his  services  as  a  writer  had  become 
so  pronounced  that  he  gave  his  entire  attention  to  literature. 
He  was  an  exceptionally  successful  teacher  and  wrote  a  num- 
ber of  text-books  for  schools,  all  of  which  met  with  high 
favor.  For  these  and  his  historical  productions,  Princeton 
College  conferred  upon  him  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts. 

The  high  moral  character,  the  clean,  manly  tendencies 
and  the  admirable  literary  style  of  Mr.  Ellis'  stories  have 
made  him  as  popular  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  as  in 
this  country.  A  leading  paper  remarked  some  time  since, 
that  no  mother  need  hesitate  to  place  in  the  hands  of  her  boy 
any  book  written  by  Mr.  Ellis.  They  are  found  in  the  lead- 
ing Sunday-school  libraries,  where,  as  may  well  be  believed, 
they  are  in  wide  demand  and  do  much  good  by  their  sound, 
wholesome  lessons  which  render  them  as  acceptable  to  parents 
as  to  their  children.  All  of  his  books  published  by  Henry 
T.  Coates  &  Co.  are  re-issued  in  London,  and  many  have 
been  translated  into  other  languages.  Mr.  Ellis  is  a  writer 
of  varied  accomplishments,  and,  in  addition  to  his  stories,  is 
the  author  of  historical  works,  of  a  number  of  pieces  of  pop- 


THE  JOHN   C.   WINSTON   CO/S   POPULAR   JUVENILES. 

ular  music  and  has  made  several  valuable  inventions.  Mr. 
Ellis  is  in  the  prime  of  his  mental  and  physical  powers,  and 
great  as  have  been  the  merits  of  his  past  achievements,  there 
is  reason  to  look  for  more  brilliant  productions  from  his  pen 
tn  the  near  future. 


DEERFOOT  SERIES. 

3  vols.  BY  EDWARD  S.  ELLIS.  $3-oo 

Hunters  of  the  Ozark.  The  Last  War  Trail. 

Camp  in  the  Mountains. 

LOG  CABIN  SERIES. 

3  vols.  BY  EDWARD  S.  ELLIS.  $3.00 

Ix>st  Trail.  Footprints  in  the  Forest. 

Camp-Fire  and  Wigwam. 

BOY  PIONEER  SERIES. 

3  vols.  BY  EDWARD  S.  ELLIS.  £3.00 

Ned  in  the  Block-House.  Ned  on  the  River. 

Ned  in  the  Woods. 

THE  NORTHWEST  SERIES. 

3  vols.  BY  EDWARD  S.  ELLIS.  $3.00 

Two  Boys  in  Wyoming.  Cowmen  and  Rustlers. 

A  Strange  Craft  and  its  Wonderful  Voyage. 

BOONE  AND  KENTON  SERIES. 

3  vols.  BY  EDWARD  S.  ELLIS.  $3.00 

Shod  with  Silence.  In  the  Days  of  the  Pioneers. 

Phantom  of  the  River. 

IRON  HEART,  WAR  CHIEF  OF  THE  IROQUOIS. 

i  vol.  BY  EDWARD  S.  ELLIS.  |i.oo 

THE  NEW  DEERFOOT  SERIES, 

3  vols.  BY  EDWARD  S.  ELLIS.  $3.00 

Deerfoot  in  the  Forest  Deerfoot  on  the  Prairie. 

Deerfoot  in  the  Mountains. 


THE  JOHN  C.  WINSTON    GO'S   POPULAR  JUVENILES. 

x  COLONIAL  SERIES. 

3  vols.  BY  E.  S.  ELLIS. 

I2mo.     Cloth $3   oo 

x  An  American  King. 

xThe  Cromwell  of  Virginia. 

x  The  Last  Emperor  of  the  Old  Dominion. 

WAR  CHIEF  SERIES. 

3  vols.  BY  E.  S.  ELLIS. 

i2mo.     Cloth 3   oo 

Iron  Heart,  War  Chief  of  the  Iroquois. 
Blazing  Arrow. 
Red  Eagle. 

TRUE  GRIT  SERIES. 

3  vols.                   By  E.  S.  ELLIS. 
i2mo.     Cloth 3  oo 

Jim  and  Joe. 

Dorsey,  the  Young  Inventor. 

Secret  of  Coffin  Island. 

UP  AND  DOING    SERIES. 

3  vols.  BY     .  S.  ELLIS. 

i2mo.    Cloth 2   25 

Limber  Lew.  A  Hunt  on  Snowshoes. 

The  Cruise  of  the  Fire  fly. 

FOREIGN  ADVENTURE  SERIES. 

3  vols.  BY  E.  S.  ELLIS. 

lamo.     Cloth 3  oo 

Lost  in  the  Forbidden  Land. 

River  and  Jungle. 

The  Hunt  of  the  White  Elephant. 


